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i 







THE 


TRAGEDY THAT WINS 


AND OTHER 


SHORT STORIES. 



PHILADELPHIA, PA. 

JOHN JOSEPH McVEY. 
1905 . 


LIBRARY of 00N6RESS 
rwo Copies tieceivtiu 

JUN 17 1905 

Cutiyriifnc tiitry 
CUiSS At aAc. Not 

/ni iL 

COPY B. 



Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1905, 
By JOHN JOS. McVEY, 

In the Office of the Librarian at Washington, D. C. 


PREFACE. 


The “Short Story/' is the character- 
istic type of Literature in America, in 
the Twentieth Century. 

These short stories were written by 
the Seniors and Juniors of St. Joseph’s 
College, Philadelphia. They are the 
work of one class, the English class. 

They are given as they were written, 
in clear, simple English, and tell an 
interesting tale without attracting atten- 
tion to the medium of thought, either by 
elaboration or fine writing, or obscurity 
of expression. In the judgment of 
scholars, competent critics, and general 
readers, some of these stories are in no 
way inferior in interest and merit to 
many of the widely heralded prize 


3 


Preface 


stories of current literature. It is no 
small credit to the training of an English 
class that nearly all of its usual work 
should merit commendation. 

The Editor. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


The Two Red Lights .... 7 

Francis y. Hardart, 

The Dead Indian . . . . . 17 

Denis E. Kelly. 

The Lawyer’s Story . . . * 2 $ 

Arthur E, McCarron. 

The Drama That Won the Prize . . 37 

Thomas A. Healy. 

The Mysterious Apparitions . . .62 

Edwara y. Lyng. 


The Doctrine of Pre-Established Harmony. 80 


Nelson Rowland. 

The Romance of an Inventor . . 88 

Stephen y. McTague. 

Lost and Found 97 

Francis y. McDermott. 

A Sad Ending . . ... . 102 

Arthur E. McCarron. 

The Houses of Hosse and Montefort . 107 

Lawrence F. Flick. 

Boschovich’s Stratagem . . . 129 

Denis E. Kelly. 


5 


Contents 


PACK 

A Close Shave 133 

Denis E. Kelly. 

A War-Time Tragedy . . . . 144 

Arthur E. McCarron. 

A Japanese Hero 153 

Francis J. McDermott. 

The Unlucky Toreador . . . 158 

Edward y. Lyng, 

The Escape of Captain Neville . . 170 

Francis X. Byrnes. 

The Game in the Cars . . . . 177 

Nelson F. Rowland. 

Teddy” 18 1 

Denis E. Kelly. 

A Brief Reunion 189 

Francis X. Byrnes. 

The Tragedy That Wins . . *197 


6 


THE TWO RED LIGHTS. 


Hello there, Charlie.*’ 

'‘Hello, is that you, John? It’s so 
awfully dark I can hardly see. How's 
your automobile to-night?” 

“ Fine ; it can beat anything in Glen- 
loch ; how’s your’s?” 

“Well, I think mine is a little bit 
better.” 

“I don’t believe it, and there’s only one 
thing to do, and you know what it is.” 

“ Don’t you think it’s too dark to- 
night? Although I suppose at the hotel 
they can send the boys to clear the 
road ; well, come on.” 

So down to the hotel they went, each 
eager to prove the truth of his words. 
As usual, a great many people had gath- 
ered at the hotel to discuss current 
events, and when informed that a race 
was about to take place, they had some- 
thing new to talk about. While all 
7 


The Tragedy That Wins 


were preparing for the race, Charlie 
noticed Alice Weymouth, the proprie- 
tor’s daughter, and Jack Borden just 
passing down the steps. A hurried con- 
versation between the two followed, and 
it was decided that a toss should tell 
which should have the pleasure of racing 
with the prettiest girl in the county by 
his side. 

“ Hello, Jack,” they called, but Jack 
did’nt seem to hear them. 

Again they called ; and Jack, guessing 
probably that their real intention was to 
call Miss Weymouth, reluctantly turned, 
and walked back to the machines. 

'‘Would you mind being time-keeper 
for us,” said John, “and let Alice enjoy 
the race in one of the cars ? It will be 
great sport, and she will like it.” 

“ I suppose so,” he said ; “ I guess she 
would rather go with you anyway.” 

“O, don’t be so mean. Jack,” said 
Alice, “it will be just lovely; we can 
take our walk to-morrow. Just to think, 
8 


The Two Red Lights 


I can really be in a great big automobile 
race.’’ 

Jack Borden, sullen and silent, and 
burning with hatred, sought a way of 
delivering a telling blow at his more 
pleasant and more favored rival, Charlie 
Elmore. 

All noticed his sullenness, and it was 
not until Mr. Weymouth appeared to 
announce the conditions of the race, that 
attention was turned from him. 

‘‘First,” announced Mr. Weymouth, 
“ the course will be around this farm to 
the blacksmith shop, and back by the 
pike. 

“ Secondly, the leading machine must 
keep to the right. 

“ Thirdly, one tail-light will be used on 
the rear of each machine. 

“Fourthly, the contestants are cau- 
tioned, as the night is dark, to keep, in 
passing, at least two feet to the left of 
the tail light of the machine ahead.” 

At these last words. Jack Borden 
9 


The Tragedy That Wins 


seemed to awaken. He rose with a 
start, a triumphant smile upon his face. 

“Tail light? Two feet to the left? 
I have it.” 

The machines were inspected, the 
tail-lights adjusted, and the whole party 
was at the front of the machines giv- 
ing instructions, advice, and betting 
that Charlie’s machine alone could win ; 
and no one asked why, for they all 
knew. Alice Weymouth would be in 
that car. Charlie’s machine was to 
start fifteen seconds ahead of John’s, as 
it had greater weight, carrying two per- 
sons. Jack Borden alone remained back 
of the machines, as if inspecting them, 
and when the talk and laughter was 
loudest, as quick as a cat he had stooped 
out of view behind the machine, and was 
soon changing from left to rights the 
tail-light of Charlie’s machine. 

In a minute it was all over, and with 
a smiling and contented countenance, 
he joined the crowd. 

lO 


The Two Red Lights 


That machine, Charles Elmore had 
worked for, day and night, and Jack 
Borden knew it ; and so again and again 
he thought that now at least for once, 
Charlie Elmore would work hard again 
for the same machine. 

When all was ready, he fired the first 
signal shot, and Charlie started amid the 
loudest cheers. 

Fifteen seconds later, and John, mid 
the same hearty applause, also started. 

No one noticed the changed tail-light ; 
they were busy with other things. 

So they started, the applauding spec- 
tators seeing nothing but dust and — two 
red lights. 

John knew he would have a hard time 
beating Charlie, but he made up his 
mind that if he did lose, he would not 
come very far behind. 

They were coming to the turn around 
the farm, and John knew that Charlie, 
since he was on the inside, must slow 
up. He did slow up, and of course 


The Tragedy That Wins 


John did not. Nearer and nearer came 
the little red light, and when the curve 
was reached, he knew he must get 
ahead. 

With full power on, he steered for 
two feet to the left of the little red lights 
and as he came almost on top of the 
other machine, he saw, too late, that in- 
stead of passing, he must surely smash 
into it. 

At that moment he saw the misplaced 
light; it meant, probably, some one’s 
death ; he knew the cause. 

With terrific force, he struck the 
wheel of the first car, sending it into 
splinters ; the car stumbled on for a few 
paces, and finally turned into the ditch 
by the roadside, throwing Charlie and 
Alice from the car. 

His own car was uninjured, and, as 
soon as possible, having shut off all 
power in the disabled machine, he has- 
tened to see how its occupants had 
fared. 


The Two Red Lights 


He found Charlie attempting to get 
up, which, on account of a sprained 
ankle, was almost impossible. 

“ Don’t mind me, John, see to Alice.” 

This was hardly necessary, for John 
was already bending over the form of 
the unconscious girl. 

“ Bring your machine over, John, and 
hurry, for we can’t tell what may be 
wrong.” 

Without hesitating a moment, he 
turned the car and, having helped Charlie 
in, lifted the girl and placed her, as 
tenderly as his nervous condition would 
permit, on the floor of the car. 

Then a second race was begun. 

All the people at the hotel, with the 
exception of one, began to wonder at the 
non-appearance of the contestants, and 
when, soon after, they saw but one ma- 
chine returning, and that too on the same 
road over which it had started, they 
rightly guessed that something was 
wrong. 


13 


The Tragedy That Wins 


John lost no time. As soon as he 
came within hearing distance, he hastily 
called out, 

Some one, quick, ’phone for the am- 
bulance.” 

Mr. Weymouth, Jack Borden, and all 
the rest, rushed up to the approaching 
machine to find out what the trouble was. 
Mr. Weymouth, shocked and terrified 
by the death-like countenance of his 
daughter, breathed the words that moved 
the hearts of all the by-standers, 

“ She’s dead !” 

And Jack Borden was there; he saw 
that his starting shot had been aimed at 
the heart of the girl he loved. And 
when the awful words of her father 
reached his ears, his clenched hand 
reached for his hip-pocket, but what he 
sought for was not there, and with 

“My God, she’s dead, and I have 
killed her !” he sank to the ground in a 
swoon. 

While he was being gently laid on the 
14 


The Two Red Lights 


porch, the visiting physician to the hotel, 
after a brief examination of the girl, pro- 
nounced it as “probably only a nervous 
shock.” 

By this time the ambulance had ar- 
rived, and with the father and an at- 
tendant beside the girl, it drove off, 
entirely disappearing from view, except 
the two red lights. 

“Well,” said one of the bystanders, 
“they’re off, and I hope they win this 
race.” 

While this was being said. Jack Borden 
slowly opened his eyes. 

Like a madman, he stood up and 
glared. 

“Who said they’re off? Who said 
win a race?” He spied the two red 
lights on the fleeing ambulance. “Great 
heavens ! you’re right, stop them, I say, 
I’ve changed the light. See, now, 
they’re getting nearer.” 

With a wild dash down the steps, he 
rushed towards the fleeing vehicle, but, 

15 


The Tragedy That Wins 


before he had taken very many steps, 
tripped and fell, shouting at the same 
time, 

“ ril save you ; yes, Fll save you ; I 
have it, there now. I — my God, it won’t 
go out.” 

The ambulance that night made an- 
other trip, but its second burden was a 
corpse, and — the two red lights. 


i6 


THE DEAD INDIAN. 


“These tropical storms are certainly 
in a class by themselves. Here it has 
been raining since nine o’clock yester- 
day morning and now it is two o’clock 
in the afternoon, and almost time for my 
appointment with that rebel Vyasa, and 
yet there is no sign of it abating. I 
wonder if he will come.” 

The speaker was a tall, broad-shoul- 
dered man, attired in the uniform of a 
British General. At the present time he 
was engaged in the exceedingly un- 
pleasant task of quelling the native in- 
surrection which had started in the city 
of Delhi, and spread through the prov- 
ince. Within a short time he had de- 
feated all the native princes with the 
exception of one, Vyasa, who continually 
avoided a pitched battle yet harassed 
the English on every occasion. He 
seemed, however, to regard the struggle 
17 


The Tragedy That Wins 


as useless, for on the day previous he 
had sent a messenger to the headquar- 
ters of Butler, who was located at a 
friendly planter’s by the name of 
Bohamba, asking for an interview in 
regard to drawing up terms for the sur- 
render of Vyasa’s army. It was while 
awaiting his arrival that Butler gave 
expression to the remarks which I have 
quoted. 

In answer to his last one as to whether 
Vyasa would come or not, a young, 
well-built officer sitting on the opposite 
side of the room asserted with great 
vehemence : “ Hindoos are like Amer- 
ican Indians, the only good one is a 
dead one,” and “It was dollars to 
doughnuts whether Vyasa would put in 
an appearance or not.” The elder 
officer was about to reply when the door 
was suddenly opened and a servant en- 
tered, accompanied by the smiling Vyasa. 

“ Good day. Sahibs,” he said, bowing 
to both officers. 

i8 


The Dead Indian 


The officers acknowledged his saluta- 
tion and bowed in turn. 

Is it the Sahibs' pleasure that we 
should now arrange the terms of surren- 
der," he said to Gen. Butler. 

“I am entirely at your disposal,” re- 
turned the General. 

‘‘Very well, Sahibs,” answered the 
Hindoo. Drawing chairs up to the 
table, they were soon deep in an ani- 
mated discussion, which was frequently 
interrupted by the too explosive Gen- 
eral, and at last abruptly ended by his 
seemingly sudden determination to ac- 
cept none but an unconditional surren- 
der of all the men and guns. The 
Hindoo hotly protested, but at length 
deprecatingly assented, and after sign- 
ing the written agreement arose to take 
his departure. 

It had ceased raining, and the young 
officer. Lieutenant Johnson, a cousin of 
the General’s, being desirous of a walk, 
said he would accompany the Hindoo to 
19 


The Tragedy That Wins 


the outposts of the camp. After a rather 
lengthy walk they reached the last 
sentry, and after walking some three- 
score paces beyond his beat, the Lieu- 
tenant bade his companion good-day and 
started to retrace his steps. He had 
scarcely walked two paces when he 
heard a step behind, and the next in- 
stant a gleaming dagger was buried deep 
in his side. “ Hindoos best dead,” hissed 
Vyasa, and vanished into the dense 
woods. With a stifled moan the Lieu- 
tenant sank to the ground in an uncon- 
scious heap. So silently had the assassin 
executed his work that the sentry sta- 
tioned but a short distance away, and 
who did not see the attack, heard not a 
sound, and would in all probability have 
remained ignorant had his attention not 
been attracted by the crashing of twigs 
by the fleeing Vyasa. Like a flash his 
gun went up to his shoulder, but the 
bullet just grazed the Hindoo’s head and 
lodged in a nearby tree. Before he 


20 


The Dead Indian 


could attempt another the Hindoo disap- 
peared in a dense thicket Summoning 
help, the sentry had the wounded Lieu- 
tenant conveyed to the hospital, while a 
detachment scoured the woods in search 
of the Hindoo. Their search was in 
vain ; the wily Hindoo had eluded them. 

Meanwhile General Butler, after giv- 
ing vent to his rage at the cowardly 
act of the Hindoo, and resolving on 
some rather strong action, tore up the 
agreement and vowed to take Vyasa 
dead or alive. Orders were quickly 
given, and in a few hours’ time the little 
army was on the march bent to capture 
the rebel stronghold fifteen miles away. 
To this place Butler shrewdly suspected 
Vyasa would flee. The fight which re- 
sulted on their arrival there, could hardly 
be called a battle, for on account of 
the poor training and still worse marks- 
manship of the Hindoos, the English 
scaled the walls and captured the fort in 
a single rush. Fighting like a demon in 


The Tragedy That Wins 


one corner was the wily Vyasa who did 
not give up until he had been rendered 
insensible by a heavy blow from a 
soldier’s rifle. Commanding the prison- 
ers to be collected together, the General 
ordered the homeward march. 

On their arrival the more seriously 
wounded of the prisoners were sent to 
the hospital, among these being Vyasa, 
who, besides a deep cut in the head 
and a gash in the cheek, limped as if 
wounded in the leg. As chance would 
have it, he was assigned the cot next to 
the Lieutenant’s, towards whom he cast 
angry glances. The Lieutenant in re- 
turn simply smiled. 

****>!« 

Taps had sounded, all the patients in 
the ward were deeply sleeping, so the 
attendant in charge, donning his coat, 
strolled outside to enjoy a smoke. He 
had scarcely vanished when the patient 
in the cot next the Lieutenant’s, after 
moving about, assumed a sitting posi- 


The Dead Indian 


tion. Assuring himself that all was 
well, he stealthily crept to the Lieu- 
tenant’s cot, and drawing a short sword) 
which hung on a chair nearby, from 
its scabbard, plunged it again and again 
into the breast of the sleeping form. 
At last he had succeeded, for the Lieu- 
tenant gave a faint gasp and breathed 
no more. Smoothing the coverings 
on both beds, Vyasa quickly crept 
into the clothes of the Lieutenant, and 
crouching behind the door awaited the 
return of the attendant. His vigil was 
soon rewarded, for the attendant all un- 
conscious of the hidden assassin, ap- 
proached the entrance. Hardly had he 
crossed the threshold when a stunning 
blow from behind knocked him sense- 
less. Noiselessly Vyasa vanished into 
the night. 

Some hours afterward the attendant 
came to, and after giving the alarm, an 
investigation was made among the 
patients. Vyasa’s cot was, of course, 
23 


The Tragedy That Wins 


found empty, but when the Lieutenant’s 
dead body was found, rage seized all. 
Lying on the bed was a blood-stained 
sword, and pinned on the breast of the 
Lieutenant was a piece of blood-stained 
paper with these words : “ Only good 
Hindoo is a dead one — but who knows? " 


24 


THE LAWYER’S STORY. 


There was a group of lawyers and 
doctors, men celebrated in their various 
professions, gathered around the open 
fire-place in the luxurious smoking-room 
of a down-town club. 

The smoke from the many cigars com- 
bined to make the air thick ; and the 
clink of glasses intermingled here and 
there with a pop and fizz told that good 
cheer was not lacking. Usually on such 
occasions, when there is a plentiful suffi- 
ciency, the kinks in men’s tongues be- 
come loosened, and strange experiences 
are oft-times heard. Nor was this an 
exception to the general rule, for many 
were the tales that had passed round the 
board; some, fairly interesting, others 
only passable, but one and all falling on 
attentive ears and meeting with un- 
bounded approval. 

One old grey-haired lawyer, who had 

25 


The Tragedy That Wins 


been quietly sitting listening to a dis- 
tinguished doctor narrating a story of 
the war in South Africa, in the pause 
which followed its close, remarked : 

“ It is a curious fact how well a man 
can conceal his wickedness from his fel- 
lows in this life.” 

The rest, scenting a story, changed 
their positions, some taking a glass of 
brandy-and-soda, while others lighted 
fresh cigars and prepared to listen. For 
the lawyer, when he deigned, and that 
happened only rarely, could usually pro- 
duce a little gem of a story. When the 
hum and commotion of the various 
changes had subsided, the lawyer, 
meditatively sipping from the glass at 
his elbow, and clearing his voice with a 
preparatory cough, began : 

“James Elwin Dalton was a man of 
power and influence in the city of Pem- 
broke, where he had settled twenty 
years before, while the town was yet in 
its infancy. He was president of its 
26 


The Lawyer’s Story 


bank, lived in the handsomest house 
within the city’s precincts, had time and 
time again refused political offices and 
preferment, and was, in fact, universally 
looked up to and respected by his fel- 
low citizens. 

“Alicia Dalton, his only daughter, and 
the pride of her father’s heart, had been 
engaged for some time to John Heaton, 
a clever young barrister, who, although 
not rich, had a very bright future before 
him. The date of the wedding had been 
definitely fixed for the eighth of April, 
now only a short month distant. 

“On the afternoon of March 3, 18 — , 
after the Pembroke National Bank had 
closed its doors for the day, Dalton and 
Kernan, the old and trusted cashier of 
the bank, who had acted in that capacity 
since first Dalton became president, were 
sitting in the former’s private room. 
Kernan had asked for the interview with 
his chief because of the reverses which 
had recently occurred to several rather 
27 


The Tragedy That Wins 


hazardous investments, and now the 
bank was pressed almost to the wall. 

“Richard Kernan was a slow man, who 
arrived at conclusions only after mature 
deliberation, while his chief was just the 
opposite. This did not, however, prevent 
the latter from appreciating his cashier’s 
abilities. He also was aware that this 
man had an absorbing though hopeless 
passion for his daughter, and although 
he discouraged it wherever he could, 
still he did not hesitate to make use of 
it whenever that redounded to his own 
advantage. And so we find the two 
men facing each other in that little 
room. 

“T suppose, sir,’ said Kernan, ‘that 
you are aware of the condition in which 
we find ourselves placed ? ’ 

“ The president paused a moment, and 
then answered: ‘You are not going to 
back out already, are you ? ’ 

“ ‘ No, sir, but ’ — 

“‘Well, then, instead of complaining 
28 


The Lawyer’s Story 


to me, why don’t you fix the books so 
that they will pass the government’s 
inspector ? ’ 

“This reply astounded the clerk. In 
all his twenty years’ dealing with this 
man, he had been to him a beacon of 
business acumen and honesty. 

“ ‘ You don’t mean that, sir ! ’ was all 
he could stammer. 

“‘Oh, of course not! but you know, 
better than any one else, that if these 
affairs are not fixed, myself and my 
daughter will be turned into the street 
within the course of a week ! ’ 

“ ‘ But, Mr. Dalton, what are we to do 
then ? ’ 

“ ‘ Never mind. I’ll not steal after these 
twenty years of honesty. You go home 
now and — let me see, this is Wednesday 
— by Saturday morning I’ll have bonds 
to cover our deficiencies.’ 

“ But Kernan was not convinced, and 
even to his slow-thinking mind, Dalton’s 
peculiar manner gave food for reflection. 

29 


The Tragedy That Wins 


And so while on his way home, he re- 
solved to keep a sharp lookout on the 
father of the girl in whose service he was 
bound heart and hand. 

“In the palatial dining-room of the 
Dalton mansion that same night the 
family, including, of course, John Heaton, 
were partaking of the evening meal. 
Alicia and Heaton were planning the 
good time they would have on their 
wedding trip, and Dalton himself was 
listening, a faint smile playing around 
the corners of his mouth. The last 
course had very nearly been completed, 
when the footman announced that there 
was a gentleman in the drawing-room 
for Mr. Dalton. Alicia turned just in 
time to catch the frown that passed 
across her father’s face. 

“‘Why must these business men 
always come to trouble you here, father ? 
Can’t you tell him to call at the bank?’ 

“ But her father, after a moment’s 
hesitation, passed it off with a jest, say- 
30 


The Lawyer’s Story 


ing, ‘ How shall I supply you and John 
with the money for those vast schemes of 
yours if I do not attend to my business ? 
I shall not be very long, dear, and then I 
will join you in the library, and we shall 
spend a pleasant evening together/ 

“ On entering the drawing-room, 
Dalton was confronted by a stocky, well- 
built individual of medium height, with 
black hair and a pair of black eyes that 
seemed capable of penetrating to your 
inmost thoughts. 

“ Good evening, Mr. Harris, glad to 
meet you, fair night out, isn’t it?' 
Clearly Dalton was not at his ease. 

‘ Mr. Dalton, I’m a man of few 
words,” was the gruff response. ‘ I got 
your letter asking me to rob the Pem- 
broke National Bank, and I’m here to 
learn particulars.’ 

“This outburst, brusque as it may 
seem, appeared to relieve Dalton rather 
than otherwise. 

“‘Well, have a smoke, and let’s dis- 


31 


The Tragedy That Wins 


cuss this business at our leisure. I sup- 
pose it was rather strange, to say the 
least, for a man to connive at robbing 
his own bank, but here is how I stand in 
the matter : The funds of the bank are 
about a million and one-half short. Now 
if the bank were broken into, I would de- 
clare that the total loss was that amount 
instead of the two hundred thousand 
dollars now in the bank. The Board of 
Directors would meet and vote to make 
the loss good. As a result the bank 
would again be in a prosperous condi- 
tion, and no breath of suspicion aroused 
against me.’ 

“ ‘All that is clear enough, but Fd like 
to know where my profit comes in ?’ 

“ ‘There are at present two hundred 
thousand, in gold and notes in the bank, 
ready for the first man who can lay his 
hands on them. Furthermore, the cash- 
ier, the only person in this world who 
could give us away is completely in my 
power. Does that satisfy you ?’ 

32 


The Lawyers Story 


“ It was evidently more than satisfac- 
tory to Harris, for after arranging that the 
crime take place on the following night, 
he departed to complete his arrange- 
ments. 

“ Perhaps it was the dream of a quiet 
life free from all hazard and care, arising 
from the contemplation of that money in 
the bank, which made him unaware of 
the fact that he was being observed. 
For Kernan, walking to and fro on the 
opposite side of the street, in the hope 
of catching a glimpse of the woman he 
loved, came face to face with the man as 
he was leaving the Dalton home. His 
training as a bank clerk stood him in 
good stead, and he immediately recog- 
nized the man as Tom Harris, one of the 
cleverest and at the same time most 
successful bank-breakers in the country. 

“ It did not take Kernan, slow and 
methodical as he usually was, very long 
to put two and two together and to 
arrive at a conclusion. He judged that 
33 


The Tragedy That Wins 


Dalton had arranged with this Harris 
to rob the bank, and that the deed 
itself must take place within at least two 
nights, as Dalton had need of the money 
by Saturday morning. After consider- 
able forethought and not without many 
hesitations and misgivings, Kernan re- 
solved to keep the secret to himself, to 
watch the bank and, if possible, scare the 
robbers off. 

“Thursday night was dark and rainy, 
just the night for Harris and his solitary 
pal to carry out their designs. The 
bank watchman had been taken care of 
by Dalton, and the policeman was off his 
beat, thanks to the same person. 

“ Harris had succeeded in effecting an 
entrance, and while his comrade kept 
watch outside, only after considerable 
labor, and with a display of great in- 
genuity, did he succeed in opening the 
huge iron doors of the safe. 

“ It is not hard to picture his dismay 
and anger, when he found that in place of 
34 


The Lawyer’s Story 


the two hundred thousand he had ex- 
pected to find there, there was but a paltry 
three hundred dollars. His curses at the 
trick thus played on him brought his pard 
to his side, and the two of them were so 
excited that they failed to notice the 
arrival on the scene of Richard Kernan 
and John Heaton. Kernan instantly 
rushed upon Harris, but was struck 
down by a blow from a black-jack. 
Heaton in the meantime was getting the 
better of the other burglar, when he suc- 
ceeded in drawing a revolver and by a 
chance shot Heaton fell dead, pierced 
through the heart. The robbers hastily 
decamped, and it was not till next day 
that the bodies were discovered. 

“ While these events were taking 
place, Dalton was entertaining at a 
magnificent banquet, that very board of 
directors, whom, on the morrow, he in- 
tended to rob. Little, however, did he 
dream of the turn his great plot had 
taken. For five years later, after he had 
35 


The Tragedy That Wins 


buried his daughter, who never recov- 
ered from the shock of the young law- 
yer’s death, an immaturely old man, 
worn with cares and worries, he finally 
gave up the struggle. In answer to the 
summons of a voice that would not be 
stilled, within the unseen precincts of his 
own heart came, with its court judge 
and executioner one unfailing verdict of 
justice. But to the end not a breath of 
suspicion was there against him, and 
had he not told me on his death-bed, 
none, save those who for reasons of 
their own would not speak, would yet be 
the wiser.” 

* * * * 

During the course of the tale, the fire 
had burnt low, the cigars were almost 
finished, and some were beginning to 
show the effects of frequent brandies 
and sodas ; so the more prudent moved 
to adjourn ; and the others perforce gave 
their reluctant consent. 


36 


THE DRAMA THAT WON THE 
PRIZE." 


“Well! well! Did any one ever 
have such hard luck? Nearly every 
time I want to go somewhere, there’s 
always some obstacle in my way which 
prevents me from getting there. Now, 
how on earth can I keep that engage- 
ment with Jack Herron to-night, and 
also write this blame old ‘Tragedy’ 
which I have to hand in to Eather Nolan 
to-morrow morning? I promised Jack 
faithfully that I would meet him at 7:00 
p. m. to take in ‘ The Wizard of Oz ’ at 
the ‘ Chestnut,’ but for the life of me I 
can’t see how its possible if I want to do 
justice to that ‘Tragedy’ and keep my 
standing in class among the rest of the 
fellows.’’ 

The speaker was a young, good- 
looking youth, about eighteen years of 
age. He was seated at a table in a 
37 


The Tragedy That Wins 


dainty little study-room in one of the 
largest palatial residences of the city. 
From the words quoted above he was 
evidently a college student, to whom 
some onerous literary task had been 
assigned, the fulfilment of which would 
interfere with his attendance at the 
theatre on that very evening. 

Leaning his elbows upon the table in 
front of him, he rested his head on his 
hands and thus, in a loud, half angry 
tone, resumed. 

“ I was a fool not to begin work on 
that ‘Tragedy* when it was first an- 
nounced, two weeks ago to-day, but no ! 
procrastinating, as usual. Oh, let it go 
till to-day, the day before ; come to think 
of it, Fr. Nolan advised us to set to work 
on it right away ; wish I had followed his 
advice. Well, I didn’t, so what’s done 
can’t be undone. But I’ve given ‘ Jack ’ 
my word that I’d take in the show with 
him to-night, and I’m going to keep it, 
come what may ! Pshaw ! this prize of 
38 


The Drama That Won the Prize 


a hundred dollars the President’s offer- 
ing for the best drama, doesn’t interest 
me at all ; I’ll not win it anyway, for the 
simple reason that there are several 
better writers than I among my class- 
mates ; for instance, there’s ‘Joe’ Con- 
way, a dandy little writer, the best in the 
class ; also Jack Herron, he can wield 
the pen pretty well too. I bet Jack’s 
got his ‘ drama ’ finished long ago. 
Moreover, even were I sure of winning 
the hundred, I wouldn’t lose my sleep 
and rest over it, like some of the boys 
are doing, because I don’t need the 
money, and if I did win it, I’d only spend 
it foolishly.” 

“ By Jove ! its now three o’clock, and 
since I’ve got an engagement with Jack 
at 7.00 P. M., I must have dinner at six, 
and then get into my ‘duds’ in short 
order. Writing these darn old tragedies 
is enough to disgust a person. Father 
says I’m cut out for a business career, 
and there I coincide with him, for above 


39 


The Tragedy That Wins 


all other professions, I don’t think I’m 
cut out to be a dramatist; if this is so, I 
don’t see where the writing of a ‘ drama ’ 
is going to be of advantage to me in 
business life. But the faculty and the 
teachers, and father, all agree it will 
benefit me in after life, and so I wont 
dispute their opinions, knowing that they, 
have mor^ wisdom and experience to 
back them up in what they say than I 
have.” 

Here the young student raised his 
head, and threw his arms over the sides 
of the chair in a careless and tired man- 
ner. With an exclamation of disgust he 
threw down on the table the pen he held 
in his hand, and in a half audible tone 
began to speak : 

“ It’s useless for me to try and write 
this tragedy. I can’t even think out a 
decent plot for it ; if it were only an 
essay I’d have no difficulty whatever in 
composing it, but when it comes to writ- 
ing a tragedy for a prize contest, espec- 
40 


The Drama That Won the Prize 


ially when the best one is to be pub- 
lished in the leading magazine in the 
city, then your humble servant Carl 
Williams begs to be excused. 

“ By the way,” he continued, after 
whistling softly to himself a few bars of 
the well-known comic song, “ I Wouldn’t 
Want to be a Playright,” “I’ll skip 
around to Joe Conway’s house and get a 
few pointers on this ‘ drama ’ affair. He’s 
always got a stock of new ideas on hand, 
good ones at that. He’s the only one who 
can give me a lift out of this difficulty.” 

Rising from his chair he clutched several 
sheets of foolscap paper in his hand, 
bounded out of the house, and shot off 
like a deer at breakneck speed. A few 
minutes later he turned the corner of a 
small dark-looking street, and made his 
way up the steps of the first humble 
house on the right and rapped loudly at 
the door. 

“ Come in, old fellow,” said a voice 
from within. 


41 


The Tragedy That Wins 


“How did you guess it, Joe?” queried 
Carl, opening the door, his face wreathed 
in one large smile. 

“ Vd know your knock in a hundred, 
Carl Williams ; it’s light and hurried,” an- 
swered Joe, a pale-looking young fellow 
of seventeen years, but of noble, intel- 
ligent, and serious countenance. 

“ Taffy !” responded Carl, good-na- 
turedly. “ O, by the way, Joe, I almost 
forgot to ask, how’s mother this after- 
noon ?” 

“ Not as well as usual, thank you, 
Carl,” answered Joe, slowly, with a tinge 
of sadness in his voice, and his bright 
blue eyes moistening with tears. 

“ The doctor,” he said, “ was here 
yesterday, and on his advice mother gave 
up her position sewing for the silk mills. 
He said that was the only means of sav- 
ing her life, and if she could but get a 
few weeks in the mountains, where the 
air is purer and more invigorating, she 
would regain her health and strength 
42 


The Drama That Won the Prize 


very rapidly. It’s impossible for her to 
go at present, because we haven’t the 
means to send her. But I’m building 
my hopes on capturing that one hundred 
dollars offered by our President for the 
best ‘ tragedy.’ If I could only win it, 
Carl,” continued Joe, his face beaming 
with joy, “ I’d take mother to the moun- 
tains immediately.” 

“ I certainly do hope you’ll win it, Joe, 
for her sake,” answered Carl; “but that 
drama affair is precisely what I came to 
see you about. I don’t know much about 
writing tragedies, and no one knows that 
better than yourself, old chum. Now 
you heard me make a date with Jack 
Herron yesterday for to-night to see 
‘ The Wizard of Oz.’ Now I want to 
keep that engagement, Joe, so I came 
here to get a few pointers from you 
on this subject.” 

“That wouldn’t be a ‘square deal’ 
for the other fellows, would it, Carl ? ” 
asked Joe, in a tone that almost carried 
43 


The Tragedy That Wins 


a refusal with it: “You know the condi- 
tions, ‘ Let each student confine himself 
to his own task/ Suppose I help you, 
and you happen to win, Carl ; wouldn’t 
that be doing an injustice to our fellow- 
classmates ? ” 

“Yes, I suppose it would,” rejoined 
Carl, in a half-petulant mood, “ But 
pshaw ! ‘Joe,’ Fm not in for the prize. I 
don’t care a fig for the hundred. You 
know it’s compulsory for all to write a 
tragedy ; that is the only reason why Fm 
bothering with the blame old thing. 
Fve only got three hours in which to 
write it, for I want to get ready at six 
o’clock, in order to be at Jack Her- 
ron’s house at seven o’clock. 

“ Come, now, give me some good 
character that would serve as the sub- 
ject for a tragedy, something classic ! ” 

“Well, I’ll help you on that condition, 
Carl,” returned Joe, slowly, “ What do 
you say to Athalie — that is classic, 
surely ? ’’ 


44 


The Drama That Won the Prize 


“ Great ! fine ! none more tragic ! just 
the theme for the occasion!” assented 
Carl, delightedly, as Joe began to write 
rapidly on the foolscap : which act of 
Joe’s, he foresaw, would save him many 
laborious hours; for he knew that Joe 
could write in one hour, as much com- 
mon sense, as would take him to write 
in a week. 

“ There’s about three-fourths of the 
plot, Carl,” exclaimed Joe, rising from 
his chair, a few moments later, and 
handing the paper containing the almost 
completed plot to Carl, who eagerly 
grasped and rapidly read over it. 

“Bully,” cried Carl, “but Isay, Joe, 
this isn’t enough. Start me in on the 
play itself, begin the first act, lay the 
scenes, and all the other requisites, won’t 
you ? so that when I get home I can 
begin immediately where you left off I ” 

“All right,” assented Joe, good-nat- 
uredly, as he took the pencil and an- 
other sheet of paper, and sat down once 
45 


The Tragedy That Wins 


more beside the old-fashioned table. 
Carl looked admiringly on, as Joe’s plia- 
ble fingers flew rapidly across the page 
before him. Once in a while, Joe would 
pause in his rapid writing and think for 
a moment, then begin again as rapidly 
as before. These intervals, short as 
they were, seemed like hours to the im- 
patient Carl, and he urged Joe on, all 
the faster, until at length, before Joe 
himself could hardly realize it, he had 
brought the first act to a finish. Joe 
turned the paper over to the eager Carl, 
who grasped it with outstretched hand, 
at the same time exclaiming : 

“Thank you, Joe, for your good turn ; 
I shan’t forget it. I think father’s library 
can furnish material for the rest of this 
tragedy ' Athalie.’ Oh — anything to get 
it completed.” Taking up his cap he 
walked to the door. “Good-bye, Joe, 
I hope mother ’ll be better the next 
time I call, and I certainly do hope you 
get the prize.” 


46 


The Drama That Won the Prize 


“Thank you; enjoy yourself to-night," 
returned Joe. 

“ Oh, leave that to me,” responded 
Carl, eagerly, as he closed the door be- 
hind him, and bounded off the steps to- 
ward home. 

After Carl’s departure Joe spent 
many laborious hours on his tragedy ; at 
length tired out, he laid down his pen, 
and rising, entered his mother’s room. 
She was resting in a morris chair near 
the window; a mild and intelligent- look- 
ing woman, her pale face furrowed with 
deep lines of care and sorrow, still bore 
traces of culture and refinement. As 
Joe entered she looked up and smiled 
sweetly upon him. 

“ How d’you do, mother ! feeling any 
better this afternoon ?’’ asked Joe, pulling 
a chair alongside of hers, and seating 
himself in it, at the same time taking 
both her hands in his, and peering lov- 
ingly into her eyes. 

“ Not so well, my son; only resting a 
47 


The Tragedy That Wins 


bit easier/' she replied, shaking her 
head sadly. “I fear Fll never recover 
from this spell of sickness. If I could 
only get some place where the air is not 
so stifling, I know Fd regain my health 
and strength. Would that your poor 
father were alive to-day, Joe." 

“ Oh, cheer up, mother, don’t worry ! 
you look a hundred per cent, better than 
you did yesterday," exclaimed Joe 
soothingly, striving to check the flood of 
tears that welled up in his eyes. 
“You’ll soon be well again. Now 
listen, mother. I’ve a secret to tell you,” 
he whispered, confidentially. “ Our Presi- 
dent, kind and generous as ever, offers 
to the class a hundred dollars for the 
best tragedy. Think"of it, mother, a hun- 
dred dollars! is’nt that a grand sum? 
I’ve made up my mind to win it, and for 
the past two weeks I’ve worked early 
and late on a drama which I’ve called 
‘ Regulus at Carthage.’ I finished it a 
few moments ago, and it’s a dandy — 
48 


The Drama That Won the Prize 


you know Fve beaten the boys in every 
written contest, and I hope to do so this 
time, for I think ‘ Regulus at Carthage ’ 
the best piece of literature I ever com- 
posed. Now, mother, I’ve prayed and 
prayed to win that ‘hundred’ just for 
your sake ; and if I do, we’ll leave this 
stuffy old place, take the doctor’s advice 
and start for the mountains immediately.” 

“ God grant that you may, my boy,” 
said she, as a vision of future happiness 
passed before her mind. “ I will pray 
hard for you to win it, Joe.” 

“ Carl Williams was here this after- 
noon and asked me to help him with his 
tragedy. He told me he wasn’t compet- 
ing for the prize, but wanted his tragedy 
finished in time to go to the theatre to- 
night. I called his drama ‘ Athalie,’ and 
wrote the plot and first act for him,” 
said Joe, as he bade his mother good- 
night and passed out of the room. A 
few moments later Joe slipped from the 
house ; called and left at the college in 


49 


The Tragedy That Wins 


Fr. Nolan’s hands the precious manu- 
script which had cost him so many labor- 
ious and weary hours to compose. 

In the meanwhile Carl Williams had ar- 
rived home, and had gone to his father s 
well stocked library. Looking over 
several books on French literature, his 
eye caught the title of one called 
“ Dramas from the French of Cadillac.” 

On hastily turning over the leaves, 
he suddenly espied a tragedy termed 
^‘Athalie.” His heart leaped with joy ; 
he had found the object of his search. 
Wildly swinging his arms about him, 
he danced around the room, shouting 
“Fm in luck! A tragedy about 
‘Athaliel’ Just the thing I want! 
I can take the last three acts from 
this and add them to the first act 
which Joe Conway wrote for me. The 
plots are almost identical ; all this’ll 
save time and trouble ! No one’ll be the 
wiser! Now I can surely keep that 
engagement with Jack!” Setting him- 
50 


The Drama That Won the Prize 


self to work, save for a few changes, he 
copied verbatim the last three acts out 
of the book, and added them to Joe’s 
act. He finished before six o’clock, and 
by seven he was off to the theatre with 
Jack Herron. Next morning before 
class he handed it to Fr. Nolan. Carl’s 
mind was not on the ^loo prize to be 
awarded, but rather on the jokes, songs 
and witticisms which the players of the 
“Wizard of Oz ” furnished the night be- 
fore. 

At last the night had arrived on which 
the prizes in the literary contest were to 
be awarded at the college. Carl and 
Joe had met by agreement at the former’s 
home, whence, linked arm in arm, they 
strode rapidly along the street toward 
the college, about three blocks away, 
the one in a jolly and laughable mood, 
all the while jokingly showering congrat- 
ulations on “ my chum, the winner of a 
hundred.” The other hopeful, but less 
buoyant in spirits than his mirthful com- 

51 


The Tragedy That Wins 


panion ; his fine face, pale and some- 
what drawn, displayed traces of toil and 
hard study. Now and then he would 
raise his half-bent head and receive 
Carl’s flatteries with a pleasant smile and 
a nod, which the talkative joker took as 
signs of approval, and continued at a 
more rapid rate than before. At length 
arrived at the college, they entered and 
encountered a host of students and 
teachers, many of whom approached the 
two boys and began to assure Joe that 
all the fellows considered him the suc- 
cessful competitor. 

“ Don’t be too sure, boys,” cried out 
Joe, somewhat elated over this unex- 
pected preliminary, ‘‘you must remem- 
ber there are fifteen other boys in the 
class.” 

“ Don’t be afraid of them, Joe,” piped 
out the shrill voice of Tom Riley of 
Sophomore, “they can’t compare with 
you in the writing line. Wait a moment, 
I have something to tell you.” Joe had 
52 


The Drama That Won the Prize 


reached half way up the stairs. “ I asked 
Fr. Nolan to-day who, in his judgment, 
had won the prize,” continued the nervy 
Tom. “ He told me he read all the 
dramas but two, and you,” whispering 
confidentally, “ had as good a chance as 
any one of them. Carl Williams’s and 
Harry Carr’s were the only two dramas 
he hadn’t read yet. But pshaw ! you 
needn’t fear them because they’re about 
the ‘ slowest ’ writers in the class !” 

“ O, I beg your pardon, Carl, I didn’t 
know you were around,” said the blush- 
ing Tom, half apologetically, on discov- 
ering Carl at his elbow. 

'‘No, I guess not,” rejoined Carl, with 
a dark look, “ but thanks all the same for 
the compliment !” 

The two chums laughingly entered the 
hall now thronged with the many friends 
of the students, and occupied seats in the 
rear. 

“Say, Carl,” Joe exclaimed wearily, 
“ I certainly worked hard on my tragedy. 

53 


The Tragedy That Wins 


Have I told you what I’ve called it? 
Regulus at Carthage, and for the past 
week I’ve been up until two o’clock in the 
morning putting the finishing touches on 
it, and last night I hardly got any sleep 
at all. I just barely handed it in on 
time to Fr. Nolan.” 

Carl looked at his pale companion in 
surprise. '‘Why, I spent only three 
hours on mine,” he said, “ and I con- 
sider it a very good one at that. Catch 
me losing my rest over a small matter as 
a tragedy.” 

“Ah, Carl,” responded Joe, “you seem 
to forget the liberal prize that’s offered — 
that one hundred dollars means a great 
deal to me,” this in a saddened tone. 

“ But pshaw ! Joe, why sacrifice your 
health and strength for such a small 
sum ? Why, its not enough to last a fel- 
low a week at Coney Island,” remarked 
Carl with an air of bravado about him. 

“ But it’s enough to save my mother’s 
life,” rejoined Joe in an inaudible tone. 

54 


The Drama That Won the Prize 


All of a sudden loud applause was 
heard, and the boys looking up saw the 
members of the faculty taking seats upon 
the stage, while directly in its centre was 
a small table on which rested the prizes 
to be awarded. There was but one 
prize that attracted Joe’s attention, and 
that was the hundred-dollar bill. As he 
gazed on it his heart palpitated and 
fluttered with excitement. The long- 
looked-for crucial moment had arrived. 
Bearing in his hand a piece of paper on 
which was written the name of the suc- 
cessful competitor, the Vice-President 
advanced to the front of the stage, and 
in a loud, clear voice announced : 

“The $100 prize for the best tragedy 
in the literary competition is awarded to 
Carl Williams for his tragedy ‘ Athalie !’ 
next in merit Joseph Conway, tragedy, 
‘ Regulus at Carthage !’ There was 
never a boy more surprised in his 
life than Carl Williams at that critical 
moment. Bound to his seat as if by 
55 


The Tragedy That Wins 


some superhuman power, he could not 
move one muscle, nor utter a sound. His 
face became crimson ; the recollection of 
the means he used to compose the drama 
burned his brain intensely. At last, con- 
scious of his guilt, he groaned aloud, while 
the applause of the assembled multitude 
sounded like the roar of a hurricane. 

But what had happened to poor Joe? 
Crushed and almost broken-hearted, he 
let his head fall forward on his bosom, 
while a cloudy mist gathered before his 
eyes. His pale face assumed an ashen 
hue ; he leaned back in his seat a crest- 
fallen and disappointed boy. He real- 
ized in an instant that all his plans were 
turned awry ; mother s chance for health 
and strength was gone. How could he 
tell her? Though smarting under de- 
feat, his manhood asserted itself. Grasp- 
ing Carl’s hand and shaking it vigor- 
ously, he exclaimed, “ I congratulate you, 
old chum. I’m glad you won it ! Shake 
on it, old fellow !” 


56 


The Drama That Won the Prize 


“ I — I,” gasped Carl, unconscious of 
what he was saying, “ I didn’t win it 
fairly, Joe ! I got — 

“ Carl Williams will please come for- 
ward,” announced a voice from the 
stage. Carl, bewildered and eyes cast 
downwards, walked slowly to the stage 
and received the ^loo amid loud and 
generous applause. Congratulations 
were showered upon him, but he hardly 
noticed them, for the thought of being in 
another boy’s place burned him fiercely. 
Instead of returning to his seat, he made 
his exit through a door in the rear of the 
stage, and stood in the centre of a long 
corridor. A guilty conscience and a heavy 
heart forbade him to proceed further ; 
leaning against the wall he suddenly 
burst into tears, and exclaimed, “ O, what 
shall I do. I’ve robbed Joe of his honor 
and his one hundred dollars ! I dare 
not face him again. What will mother 
and father and all my friends say when 
they find out the truth? I cannot sleep 
57 


The Tragedy That Wins 


to-night knowing myself to be a thief ! 
Here comes Fr. Nolan, Fll tell him all.” 

Fr. Nolan, surprised at finding Carl in 
the hallway and in tears, came quickly 
up to him, and inquired what the trouble 
was. The grief-stricken lad related the 
whole affair to the surprised priest, and 
offered to go immediately to Joe’s house 
and there make restitution. 

“ Let us go then at once,” exclaimed 
Fr. Nolan, utterly overcome at Carl’s 
recital, “ we may yet be able to save Joe 
from great pain.” 

Setting out they arrived at Joe’s 
humble home, where they found the poor 
fellow bending over the table in tears, his 
mother trying to console him. Coming 
upon him suddenly, Carl ran forward, and 
kneeling beside the astonished Joe, and 
clasping his hand, cried out piteously: 

Forgive me! O, forgive me, Joe! 
I’ve robbed you of the prize. I never 
won it ; its yours Joe. I copied my 
tragedy out of a book!” 

58 


The Drama That Won the Prize 


Joe looked up in surprise. 

“ Take the hundred, Joe, for you’ve 
won it fairly ! but forgive me, won’t you, 
Joe?” Carl pressed the crisp $100 bill 
into the bewildered boy’s hand. 

“ Why, Carl ! ” replied Joe, en- 
deavoring to push the bill back, “ it was 
awarded to you. I’ve no right to it ! ” 

“ Oh, yes you have, my boy ; you are 
the one to whom it should have been 
awarded,” broke in Fr. Nolan, “ Carl 
has manfully told me all ! It’s your 
prize, and you must accept it.” 

Carl vigorously nodded his approval, 
and handed the bill to Joe, who was now 
all smiles, and who, going to his mother, 
placed the bill in her hands. 

“ Now shake hands, boys,” said good 
Fr. Nolan. 

“ Certainly,” answered Joe, now over- 
joyed at the sudden turn of affairs. 

“ Sure ! ” exclaimed Carl, jolly and 
conscious of having done his duty. 

“ Mrs. Conway,” said the priest, “that 
59 


The Tragedy That Wins 


was an excellent tragedy your son 
wrote ; it should be put on the market. 
I will see the President about it in the 
morning.” 

“ Carl,” he continued, turning to the 
two boys who were embracing one an- 
other from joy, “ I admire you for your 
manliness ; you hearkened to the voice 
of conscience, and sacrificed a paltry 
sum to save your honor, and nobly re- 
stored to your best friend what was 
rightly his. Well done, my boy ! God 
will reward you for this noble deed ! ” 

Two days later Joe received a tele- 
gram, bearing the signature of Carl 
Williams and father, inviting his mother 
and himself to accompany the Williams 
family on a lengthy trip to the Adiron- 
dack mountains. It is needless to say 
that is was gratefully accepted. 

Late in autumn all returned healthy 
and strong, particularly Mrs. Conway, 
who was the very picture of health. 

Joe’s play was beautifully staged, and 
6o 


The Drama That Won the Prize 


for a long while Regulus at Carthage” 
was the most successful tragedy of its day. 
But that was not the only drama penned 
by Joe. Many others were written by 
him, which netted him large sums of 
money, sufficient to give his mother all 
the necessary comforts of life. Joe is 
now a successful playwright in one of the 
large cities of the East, while Carl is a 
leading business merchant in the same 
place. They often meet and talk of old 
times. 

Carl’s principle still is : Honor first, 
last, and all the time.” It’s the only 
play that wins. 


6i 


THE MYSTERIOUS APPARITIONS. 


On the outskirts of the town of Con- 
cord, and entirely hidden in a profusion 
of shrubbery, stood an old colonial man- 
sion. The date of its building was a 
matter of contention among the resi- 
dents of the town. True, it was, that 
the Continental Army, after capturing it 
from the British, had made it its head- 
quarters. But soon it was abandoned 
— for the reason that it became the har- 
binger of distress for some cause un- 
known. During the struggle for free- 
dom it became the centre of the most 
disastrous scenes. Once within its grim 
portals none e’er returned to depict the 
gloom of its interior. Strangers passing 
the Sphinx-like figure at night never re- 
traced their footsteps, but were found on 
the ensuing day with frightfully distorted 
countenances and mangled forms. Each 
year the mystery increased. It was pro- 


The Mysterious Apparitions 


posed to raze the house to the ground 
but the superstition of the laborers — 
pardonable, perhaps — became an im- 
passable dead-lock to the undertaking. 

Such were conditions at the beginning 
of the war. When peace had been de- 
clared, and the colonists had engaged 
themselves in their respective occupa- 
tions, the Government finally disposed 
of the mansion. A Colonel of the Con- 
tinental Army — John J. Newton — a man 
respected for his valor and integrity, 
purchased the mansion and surrounding 
property for a reasonable sum and soon 
took possession of his new home with 
his wife and children — two young men 
and a daughter. 

For many months the family lived in 
content. Occasional mysterious knocks 
affected in no way the tranquillity of the 
home influence. The young men denied 
themselves the company of their friends 
in Concord for the company of their 
loving parents. All was peace and 
63 


The Tragedy That Wins 


happiness. The daughter, however, 
within a few months began to grow pale 
and wan. Where there was once the 
elastic step, now lethargy marked every 
movement. Twas obvious that her 
heart concealed some gloomy secret. 

One evening she was seated with 
the family around the blazing log-fire, 
and appeared particularly melancholy. 
Some of the facts had long since dawned 
upon the family, and they determined to 
have the complete story from the girl. 
Gently the father began his questionings 
Forced to tell her secret, in obedience 
she complied. 

“ At midnight of late, father,” she be- 
gan in a faltering voice, “ I have been 
roused from my slumber by mysterious 
tappings. At first I thought it the flap- 
ping of the wings of some stray bird, 
but so persistent was it that I determined 
to lie awake and watch. One night last 
week I endured this agony. On the 
stroke of twelve a lurid ray illumined the 
64 


The Mysterious Apparitions 


room and soon dissolved itself into a 
murky vapor. The tapping increased 
in violence, and very soon the sound of 
smashing glass resounded throughout 
the entire house. Each night as I heard 
these strange noises I became speech- 
less. In vain I attempted to scream for 
deliverance from my Satanic surround- 
ings. For two long hours a succes- 
sion of these strange mysteries struck 
terror into me. At times, sleep never 
visited me till dawn, I thought these mere 
fancies, but to my horror I found them 
realities, for each morning upon looking 
at my clock on the wall I found it 
stopped at precisely twelve o’clock. I 
have tried to forget all, but the gloom 
of last night presents the stern reality — 
father, our home is haunted by spirits of 
evil ! ” 

The last tinge of color faded from the 
girl’s cheeks, and she appeared as pale 
as a statue. The excitement which she 
had wrought in the family had to be 

65 


The Tragedy That Wins 


allayed, and so all pressed her for the 
truth. To unburden herself meant to 
alarm the household, but even this 
course, all declared, would be the most 
expeditious, for upon her now depended 
the fate of all. If there were sufficient 
grounds, investigation should be made, 
but the most advantageous course could 
be known only through her story. 
Reluctantly she continued : 

“ Father,” she trembled as she spoke, 
“ last night I scarce knew whether to 
retire or to seek comfort in mother’s 
chamber. I did not wish to cause any 
uncalled-for excitement, so I listlessly 
read a romantic tale, but my mind was 
directed to the objects about me. ’Till 
near midnight I heard none of the 
strange sounds. Thinking, then, that 
my slumbers would not be disturbed I 
retired, first taking the precaution to 
leave my lamp lighted. But sleep was 
not intended for me. Soon it began to 
rain, and in vain I attempted to allow 
66 


The Mysterious Apparitions 


the patter of the raindrops to lull me to 
sleep, as you know, the shower became 
a thunder-storm. Oh, would to heaven I 
had not lived last night ! The anger of the 
elements raged outside, but the demons 
of hell reigned within this house. The 
peals of thunder were answered by 
terrific crashes. I screamed, but ere the 
echo died away I was seized by some 
irresistible force and thrown from my 
bed to the floor. Once more the lurid 
flame illumined the room. Objects that 
had become dear to me now were loath- 
some and repulsive, and seemed to add 
to my torture and misery. The massive 
door, which I had bolted, opened and 
slammed, and the crash reechoed 
throughout the house. Again I 
screamed, and my answer was the hisses 
of the demons in mockery. 

“ Suddenly my blood grew cold, for I 
now heard the wailing of the dying. 
Father, murder was committed in this 
house last night, and the torture of chil- 
67 


The Tragedy That Wins 


dren and the agony of men, I knew, from 
the screams which cursed this house, 
as I lay upon the floor. Afraid to move, 
I beheld in the gloom a most hideous 
spectre. Two eyes of burning coals and 
a long, vapor-like face and the trailing, 
transparent shroud of that hideous form, 
struck fear and terror into my soul. I 
shall never be able to tell the agony 1 
endured. Silently and slowly it moved 
from the distance, penetrating walls, and 
heeding no obstacles. Soon it reached 
me and riveting its glaring eyes upon 
me leaned over to” — the girl was unable 
to speak further, and fell upon the hearth 
in a swoon. 

So peculiar was the tale of the young 
lady, and so accurately did it correspond 
with the facts that now began to come 
to the knowledge of the family, that it 
was determined to set a watch. If these 
strange effects were the outcome of 
natural causes, human beings must in a 
way be connected with it. If so, the law 
68 


The Mysterious Apparitions 


should be dealt out to them to its fullest 
extent. If, on the other hand, the effects 
were resulting from preternatural causes, 
life and prosperity were endangered, 
and every possible means should be 
employed to evade an evil so direful. 

For many weeks nothing strange 
occurred. In vain the faithful brothers 
continued their arduous vigils in the 
lonely chamber. Watchful and silent 
they sat through many nights, anxiously 
awaiting the ill-omened spectre. While 
their sister lay between life and death, 
moaning and rehearsing her agonizing 
story, the brothers in a fever of excite- 
ment courted the same calamity. 

One night a tremendous crash was 
heard in the chamber below, sending its 
blood-curdling vibrations throughout the 
house. Like their sister, the brothers 
pronounced it the smashing of glass. 
The household was precipitated into 
chaos. Cautiously some entered the 
room whence the noise seemed to pro- 
69 


The Tragedy That Wins 


ceed. Upon the floor, and scattered in 
every direction was the once handsome 
mirror of the family, but strangely 
enough the frame remained upon the 
wall. The kind old colonel declared 
it an accident, and in peace and content 
all retired to their respective chambers. 
The brothers, however, were not to be 
duped by this strange affair. Accidents, 
they argued, are complete. Why should 
the frame remain upon the wall ? — a 
question that not only deepened the 
mystery, but determined the brothers to 
concentrate all their efforts to discover 
the secret of this strange affair. 

It was now past midnight. Complete 
silence reigned supreme, and darkness 
held all in its grasp. The clock in the 
haunted chamber once more ceased to 
tick. This in itself savored of mystery, 
but so occupied were the brothers in 
their thoughts that this passed unob- 
served. Again the tapping was heard. 

70 


The Mysterious Apparitions 


Fear now seized the brothers. The 
incident of a few hours previous now 
dawned upon them in all its significance. 
The lurid light cast its satanic glow 
about the room, and the hideousness of 
hell itself glared from the walls. Un- 
natural voices echoed through the room. 

Silently and trembling, the elder of 
the brothers followed the repulsive 
spectre. In its wake were left the sul- 
phurous fumes of some unearthly body. 
At its approach the dismal clanging of 
chains and the pitiful moans of men re- 
sounded as through the caverns of the 
dead. Life amid such surroundings 
seemed but a mockery. 

Stealthily, however, the young man 
followed. He had now reached the top- 
most room, and on entering at the bid- 
ding of his preternatural guide, beheld a 
scene that struck terror into his palpi- 
tating heart. The shrieks of agonizing 
men assailed his ears, and there, as he 
gazed, he beheld in panoramic view the 

71 


The Tragedy That Wins 


secret of all their misery, woe and 
terror. Grasping at the massive door 
for support, it mysteriously evaded his 
touch, and amid the unearthly laughter 
of his environments, he fell to the floor. 
What was first a mere mist, in which he 
dimly discerned the outlines of rugged 
men, now developed before his eyes, 
and he gazed upon a state of affairs too 
terrible to bear description. 

The room to which he had been led 
was unknown to him. Since the family 
was a small one, the colonel had thought 
it unnecessary to tenant the upper part 
of the mansion. Scarcely ever was it 
explored. This room, however, into 
which the young man was led, was of 
the ordinary dimensions — about twenty 
by thirty feet. In the centre of the 
room was a massive oak table and upon 
it were strewn broken bottles about 
which the spider had dexterously spun 
its web. Near the wall were various 
formidable money-chests upon which 
72 


The Mysterious Apparitions 


were heaped the riggings of some time- 
honored ship. About the table sat 
eleven sullen-looking men, whose very 
demeanor bespoke mystery. 

A sweeping glance sufficed to tell 
the young man that he was in the 
haunt of restless spirits. His courage 
began to fail him, his flesh began to 
creep and an indescribable tremor ran 
throughout his entire body. Cold beads 
of perspiration stood out upon his face, 
but the pain and fear affected not his tor- 
mentors. He arose from the spot and 
furtively crept towards the door. His 
attempt to retreat was forestalled by his 
guide who, in all his hideousness, now 
confronted him with menacing look and 
gesture. He raised his arm to defend 
himself against this imperious foe, but 
ere the wish was put into execution, he 
was hurled with terrific force against the 
wall. Now did the imps of hell seem 
to have broken the barriers of their in- 
cessant miseries and to have conveyed 
73 


The Tragedy That Wins 


their torture to the abode of men. Hor- 
ror-stricken did the young man perceive 
startling changes about him. 

Once more the ill-omened, lurid light 
lit up the room. In no part of the place 
could he find a spot upon which his eye 
might peacefully rest. The only one 
object that presented a natural look was 
the dilapidated and age-worn clock. 
It lacked but five minutes of the mid- 
night hour, and so furiously did the pen- 
dulum swing, that it seemed as though 
it would outrun Father Time. 

The mysterious tappings were now 
heard. Although too terror-stricken to 
move, still the young man listened with 
deep attention. He watched his unsightly 
companions in their orgies. At the sound 
of the tappings all arose. The violent 
gesticulations of some were sufficient to 
prove that whoever was the candidate 
for admission, was ill-favored by some. 
The specter which so recently struck 
terror into the young man had disap- 
74 


The Mysterious Apparitions 


peared, but his disappearance only threw 
the revelry into utter confusion. Revolt 
and panic stared from the eyes of all. 
They railed against each other and 
noiselessly struggled among themselves. 
Some stood in a threatening attitude 
over the helpless young man. He was 
seized and dragged by some irresistible 
force into the centre of the room beside 
the oak table. Mockingly they bowed 
before him and saluted him and pointed 
to the clock now stopped. 

Still the tapping increased. This noc- 
turnal visitor, whoever he be, was more 
feared than an ordinary mortal. He 
must, indeed, be their master, though 
why he should remain in obscurity, much 
troubled the agitated mind of the unfor- 
tunate man. When the tapping was 
heard they ceased their mockery and 
stood in mute attention and with gaze 
fixed upon the door. A tremendous 
crash, akin to the smashing of glass, now 
vibrated throughout the room. It 
75 


The Tragedy That Wins 


seemed to be an omen too well known 
to the unnatural occupants, for scarce 
had it ceased, when all had assumed 
the position which they occupied on 
the entrance of the young man. A 
long, pain-dealing lull followed, and not 
a sound, save the heavy breathings 
of the young man was heard. Soon an 
ear-piercing scream announced the ar- 
rival of the chief of the revellers. To 
the utter chagrin of the young man, the 
room underwent an entire transforma- 
tion, and from his home in the suburbs 
of Concord he was carried bodily to a 
harrowing scene on the mighty and 
boisterous billows of the Atlantic. 

The reality now dawned upon him — 
he was among pirates. They began a 
diabolical ceremony. He heard the wail- 
ing and screaming of men and women as 
if in the hold, and the satanic laughter of 
the pirates sent a chill of horror through 
his blood. He scarce knew whither to 
turn, for from even the very crevices in 
76 


The Mysterious Apparitions 


the walls hideous imps were staring at 
him. He gazed imploringly upon the 
leader, but to no avail. At the com- 
mand of the chieftan, he was led to 
the table and confronted with the ship’s 
log. He was motioned to read. This 
he did. He found it nothing but a 
chronicle of the sufferings on the part of 
their victims. They now showed him 
the coffers, which were filled with the 
coin of every realm. But these had no 
attraction for him whose only desire now 
was release. But he was yet to witness 
a scene which no mortal ever survived, 
and which was a mystery that defied all 
the investigation of his townspeople. 

As he stood beside the table, he 
heard again the sounds of clanging 
chains. He had by this time become 
hardened to its effects, but he now be- 
held the cause. Before him stood many 
characters of misery and pity manacled 
to each other. Starvation had seized 
upon their bodies, and had begun its 
77 


The Tragedy That Wins 


work of devastation. One by one they 
fell upon the floor, and all that remained 
of them was the clay from which they 
had been created. The work of decom- 
position soon began, and was soon con- 
summated, and skeletons in all their 
hideousness stared upon the terrified 
young man. All advanced upon him, 
and with menacing gesture demanded 
him to fall down before them. He cried 
for deliverance, but his only answer was 
that he was thrown upon the floor by 
some irresistible force. The room swam 
before him. He raised his hands in sup- 
plication, and cried out for mercy and 
deliverance from these unearthly scenes. 
Again he cried out to his brother, but the 
words crystallized upon his lips, and 
seized by a frenzy of catalepsy, he sank 
to the floor, no longer conscious of the 
fiendish surroundings. 

The morning sun looked upon one 
sorrowing home in Concord. Upon the 
78 


The Mysterious Apparitions 


absence of their loving son at the break- 
fast table, the family was much disturbed, 
and immediately instituted a search. In 
the neglected attic they found him fright- 
fully mangled and with terribly distorted 
countenance. His dishevelled hair and 
bulging eyes told too well a story of 
murder amid horror and misery, and 
added one more crime charged against 
the plunderers of the ocean’s highways. 


79 


THE DOCTRINE OF PRE-ESTAB- 
LISHED HARMONY.’^ 


Professor Von Nicolassen was puz- 
zled. He had read the works of the 
famous Herr Von Leibnitz and his doc- 
trine of pre-established harmony. But 
the professor must find out for himself. 
He would experiment. But he would 
share the credit of his discovery with no 
one. Yet to carry out the experiment 
he must have an assistant. How can 
he prove the doctrine and yet achieve all 
the fame for himself? 

You must know that Professor Von 
Nicolassen was a lover of philosophy. 
He had read the famous doctrine of 
Leibnitz about the soul and body. How 
they are like two clocks, built to keep 
the same time. 

“But,” thought the professor, “sup- 
pose a soul went into the wrong body.’* 
Would it not be all out of order? For 
8o 


“ Pre-Established Harmony ” 

surely it would not keep the same time 
with the wrong body, unless indeed it 
were built over. Therefore he will ex- 
periment. He will change souls with 
some body. But this is what puzzled 
the professor. “ Who would make the 
change with him ? ” 

“Ah! He has it. He will ask Hanz 
Schmidt, who is to marry Gretchen 
Haupt, just as soon as he can save 
enough money to buy a house. But the 
professor will give him a house, his 
worth it. Besides, all the honor will be 
his. Hanz will not care.” And so the 
learned man goes to see Hanz. 

As Hanz is leaving, after a visit to his 
betrothed, he meets the professor. 

“ How do you do, Herr Doctor,” says 
Hanz. 

“ How are you, Hanz,” says the pro- 
fessor, “ how is the fair Gretchen ? ” 

“ Very well, Herr Doctor,” says Hanz. 
“ And when are you to be married ? ” 
asks the professor. 

8t 


The Tragedy That Wins 


''Ah! I fear it will be a long time,” 
says Hanz sighing. " The times are 
very hard on a poor man. And it will 
be a long time before I can buy a home 
for my Gretchen.’' 

" Ah, yes,’’ replied the professor, " the 
times are hard. But, Hanz, suppose if 
you should do something for me, I should 
in return give you a house?” 

"Ach! Herr Doctor, surely you are 
joking,” said Hanz. 

"No,” said the professor, "there is 
something I should like done, and if you 
will do it, I will in return give you a fine 
house. But you must tell no one ’till it 
is over.” 

" Herr Doctor is too kind,” said Hanz. 
" What is it, that such as I, can do for 
him?” 

Then the professor explained his plan. 
At first Hanz hesitated. "Was the 
Doctor sure he would give this soul back 
to him. Well, if Herr Doctor was cer- 
tain he would make the exchange.” 

82 


Pre-Established Harmony” 


And so they went to the professor’s 
study, and there the two exchanged 
souls. 

It seemed to the professor as if he had 
been asleep for a very long time. He 
felt rather queer and heavy. He would 
go out for a walk. He needed exercise. 
Perhaps it would clear his head a little. 
So he went out the door and started 
towards the river. But you can imagine 
his surprise when he found himself go- 
ing the opposite way. He tried to turn, 
but could not. 

“ I must surely be dreaming,” he said 
to himself. But every step he took led 
him further from the river. 

Finally he gave up struggling, and 
soon found himself entering the house 
where Gretchen Haupt lived. As he 
entered Gretchen ran to him, threw her 
arms around his neck and kissed him. 
To his horror he found himself returning 
the salute. 

“What would my pupils say if they 
83 


The Tragedy That Wins 


saw me now?” thought the professor. 
He tried to free himself, but it was not 
possible. Then he tried to scream, but 
he could not utter a sound. 

“ Ah, Hanz,” he heard Gretchen say, 
“ we can soon be married. Our mother 
will buy us a house, and when we are 
married she says she will come live with 
us. Will you not like to be with your 
mother-in-law ?” 

At these words the poor professor 
seemed to be hit as by a heavy club, and 
he was conscious of nothing more. 

Hanz was very much surprised when, 
after what seemed to be a long sleep, he 
found himself in the professor’s study. 

“ What would Herr Doctor say if he 
found me in here?” 

Then he remembered his interview 
with the professor. He thought of the 
house. He must hurry back to tell 
Gretchen the good news. He left the 
house and started off toward the centre 
84 


Pre-Established Harmony” 


of the town. To his surprise he found 
himself going towards the river, exactly 
opposite to the direction he wished to go. 
He tried to go the other way, but found 
himself unable to go in any direction 
except towards the river. 

“What can be the matter with me ?” 
he said ; “ I never felt this way before.” 

By this time he was passing through a 
dark and narrow alley. Suddenly two 
masked men jumped out before him. 
He screamed and received a heavy blow 
on the head. Then he felt himself fall, 
or at least he felt his body fall. He 
tried to rise but in vain. He saw the 
men run, and he tried to follow them, 
but he could not move. 

Then suddenly he seemed to be with 
Gretchen. He was telling her of the 
house the professor had promised. They 
talked for a long while about the house, 
and then began to plan for the wedding. 
But he was interrupted. 

His bodily eyes opened, and he was 
85 


The Tragedy That Wins 


in the street again. He got up slowly, 
started off, he knew not where. 

After a while he entered a house, and 
there he saw himself talking with Gret- 
chen. At the same time the professor re- 
covered consciousness, and was startled 
to see himself coming in the door. Then 
he remembered his bargain with Hanz, 
and the truth dawned upon him. His 
soul was in the body of Hanz, and yet 
was acting as if it was in his own body. 
The theory was proved. 

Not long after, when his soul had re- 
turned to its proper body, the professor 
was talking with Hanz. They compared 
their experiences, found that the actions 
of their souls had been identical with the 
action of their bodies. With this proved, 
the professor left Hanz and Gretchen to 
continue their plans for the wedding. It 
was a great success, and the professor 
was the guest of honor, and presided at 
the wedding feast in the new house. 
But amid all this joy he was unhappy. 

86 


Pre-Established Harmony ” 

The world could never know his wonder- 
ful discovery. He could not bring him- 
self to make known his meeting with 
Gretchen, and so a most important fact 
has been lost, alas, forever to the scien- 
tific world. 


87 


THE ROMANCE OF AN 
INVENTOR. 


The 23d of December had been a 
miserable day. A mist had rolled in 
and enveloped New York in the early 
morning and gradually thickened until 
it had turned to a soft rain. This, how- 
ever, did not seem to deter the New 
Yorkers from their pleasure-seeking. 
Joseph Jefferson was to appear in Rip 
Van Winkle, in which role his wonder- 
ful art displayed itself to better advan- 
tage than in any play in which he had 
thus far starred. 

Now no one who knows the character 
of the New York theatre-goers will 
wonder at the Metropolitan Opera 
House being thronged with a merry 
crowd even on such a night. 

One of this throng deserves special 
notice. He was a young man, in full 
evening dress, with light brown hair and 
88 


The Romance of an Inventor 


dark, sparkling eyes, which ever and 
anon lost their lustre and seemed to 
be turned inwards in deep abstraction. 
As he passed along, unaffected by the 
gay crowd around him, he had many 
a collision, and at last he leaned against 
the wall out of the way of the passers-by. 

As he was standing thus, half uncon- 
scious of the scene around him, he sud- 
denly saw something fall to the ground. 
This awoke him from his reverie. He 
went over and picked up a lady’s 
pocketbook. He knew there had been 
only one lady near at the time it was 
dropped, and he saw her going tov/ards 
the entrance of the theatre. Hastening 
on he caught up with her, and finding 
that the lost article was hers, he re- 
turned it, and received in return a 
glance from a pair of beautiful hazel 
eyes, while their owner murmured her 
thanks in a soft, sweet voice. 

The beauty of the young lady dazzled 
him for a moment, and when he had re- 
89 


The Tragedy That Wins 


gained his composure she was nowhere 
in sight, nor did he see her afterwards, 
although he waited till the last person 
had left the theatre. As the young man 
was of a rather romantic turn of mind, 
the vision of the lobby did not leave his 
mind for days after, and as he was re- 
markably handsome we might justly 
assume that he also left an impression 
on the young lady’s mind. 

***** 

George Averen sat in his room, which 
was also his workshop, lost in what 
seemed to be a sad reverie. And while 
he is thus engaged we may tell the 
reader something of his history. He 
was a direct descendant of the Averens 
of Kentucky, whose name is so well 
known in connection with the early his- 
tory of America. His great-grandfather 
had been very wealthy, but his son and 
grandson had lost it all, and now the 
great-grandson was driven to rely on 
himself for a livelihood. 


90 


The Romance of an Inventor 


He was an inventor, and had in- 
vented, among other things, a patent 
clamp for rails, but had been unable to 
get any one to take financial interest in 
the invention. He had also invented a 
new cartridge. And now he came home 
despondent. He had tried everything 
and all had failed him. The dream of 
his life was to make a success of the 
air-ship, but this meant the use of 
money, and money was what he could 
not obtain. He had abandoned hope 
of disposing of his patents in America, 
and had come, as a last resource, to 
London. 

In the first place he had to get 
patents for his inventions, and that 
meant to interview the lieutenant and 
sub-lieutenant of this, that and the 
other, and to pay them all, and now his 
money was nearly exhausted, and he 
must do something or starve. This was 
why he was sad. At last he roused 
himself, and with a deep sigh sum- 

91 


The Tragedy That Wins 


moned a servant and gave him a letter 
to post. Then he did the wisest thing 
possible under the circumstances ; he 
sought the “balm of hurt minds,” sleep 
that “knits the ravelled sleeve of care.'' 

Meanwhile let us take a glance at the 
condition of politics in England. The 
Russians had just fired on the English 
fishing-boats, and public opinion ran riot. 
Truly this was a bad time to obtain a 
partner to work a patent. This was the 
reason for sending that letter which 
caused the following advertisement to 
be inserted in the London Thnes : 

Wanted : A situation as private 
secretary. Address : G. A., care of 
London Times. 

The answer came sooner than he ex- 
pected, and in three days he was in- 
stalled as private secretary to Sir Ralph 
Barclay. He had a bright, cheerful 
room, and went to sleep that night 
better pleased with himself and the 
world. 


92 


The Romance of an Inventor 


The next morning as he was writing 
some letters that the old knight was dic- 
tating he was interrupted by a cheery 
“ Good morning, Uncle,” from the door- 
way. He looked up and started. It 
was the very lady he had met in the 
lobby of the Metropolitan Opera House 
some months ago. She recognized him, 
also, and a faint flush spread over her 
features as he was introduced to her. 
After a few courteous remarks she left 
the room. As he afterwards found out, 
she was Lady Margaret Hernon, a ward 
of the crown. She lived with Sir Ralph 
who was an old friend of her father s, 
and she was considered one of the most 
beautiful as well as one of the richest 
heiresses in England. Her suitors were 
innumerable, and among them was one 
especially worthy of notice, namely. Sir 
Vernon, Prime Minister of England. 

George’s duties were light and except 
for an hour, morning and evening, he 
was free to do as he liked. 


93 


The Tragedy That Wins 


Now George was a great reader and 
so, it turned out, was Margaret. They 
met in the library often, and at last dis- 
cussed with one another the merits of 
this or that book and soon there grew up 
an intimacy between them which soon led 
to love. Indeed this is almost inevitable 
when two young people both handsome 
and both book-lovers are thus thrown 
together. 

One day they confessed their love, yet 
both thought it was hopeless. 

Margaret had no hope at all, but 
George, whose habits as an inventor 
now stood him in good stead, soon 
shook off this despondency and cast 
about for some key with which to open 
this barrier. Two things must be done : 
first, he must get the king’s permission, 
and second, he must do that without the 
knowledge of Sir Vernon. This prob- 
lem cost him many a night’s rest. But 
at last he saw a solution. 

A war was pending between England 
94 


The Romance of an Inventor 


and Russia over the North Sea incident. 
Now George reasoned that if he per- 
fected his flying machine so that it could 
carry armor, he could bargain with the 
king for Margaret in exchange for his 
air- ship, and if that failed he could try to 
get her by threatening to hand his inven- 
tion over to Russia. 

His air-ship was complete if he could 
only find a way to inflate it sufficiently. 
He puzzled and worked over this until at 
last he saw his way clear. He thought 
that if he reduced the gas to liquid form, 
he could thus get sufficient buoyancy to 
float it. Straightway he tried it, and to 
his delight it succeeded. 

He had now only to obtain the ear of 
the king. He went to Margaret and 
told her what he had done. In the 
midst of this tender scene, Sir Ralph 
walked in. He called George to his 
smoking-room, and then instead of giving 
the expected scolding, he pitied him, and 
told him that if there was any way of his 
95 


The Tragedy That Wins 


winning his adopted niece he would help 
him, but that the case was absolutely 
hopeless, as the consent of the king 
would have to be obtained, and Sir 
Vernon would make that impossible. 

Thereupon George told him his plan, 
and Sir Ralph, who secretly hated Sir 
Vernon, agreed to help him. 

Sir Ralph obtained an audience for 
George, and he made good use of his 
time. The king tried innumerable ways 
to obtain the patent, and still oblige his 
favorite by conferring Lady Margaret on 
him, but George remained firm, and his 
Yankee keenness in driving a bargain 
stood him in good stead. 

Finally, after George had shown all 
the consequences of Russia obtaining 
possession of the airship, the king gave 
him a written consent to the marriage. 
George and Margaret were married at 
ten o’clock the next morning, lest the 
king should repent his decision. They 
sailed for America a few weeks after, and 
a happier couple never crossed *"the sea. 

96 


LOST AND FOUND. 


Ralph Densmore and Elsie Brown 
had known each other from childhood; 
they had been schoolmates, friends and 
companions, so that when school days 
were over there existed between them a 
strong bond of friendship. 

Ralph in pursuit of his chosen profes- 
sion, left the quiet country village and 
entered college to study civil engineer- 
ing. His success had been foretold, and 
now after four years his ambitions were 
realized when he received a high position 
from a railway corporation in a western 
city. 

During this time, Elsie had occupied 
the station of teacher in the village 
school, where she had received her early 
education. Life for her had not the 
many attractions which Ralph enjoyed. 
Her pleasures were rare except the 
occasional visits to the city and the de- 
97 


The Tragedy That Wins 


scriptions of college life that Ralph gave 
her while on his vacation to home. 
They had always been happy together, 
but now separation, possibly for a num- 
ber of years, seemed inevitable. 

Farewells were exchanged and al- 
though they deeply loved each other, no 
engagement of marriage was made 
between them, but there was neverthe- 
less a tacit understanding, that the senti- 
ment had grown into a more beautiful 
flower than friendship. 

Ralph was absent only a few years 
when he yearned for home, companions 
and friends of earlier days. He wrote 
to Elsie telling her of his intended visit. 
This delighted Elsie who for a long time 
had been eager to see him, and her joy 
was further increased by the expectation 
of a visit from Blanche Myers, a girl 
friend from the city. 

The expected visitors arrived but a 
few hours apart, and although that even- 
ing found Elsie extremely happy, still a 
98 


Lost and Found 


stranger might have prophesied that 
trouble would come. Ralph had fallen 
in love with Blanche. 

While Elsie was engaged with her 
pupils, the two visitors had many oppor- 
tunities of becoming better acquainted 
and he was fast being enamored of her 
pretty face and charming manners. On 
one occasion, when she felt safe to do so, 
she told him she had heard he was en- 
gaged to Elsie. “Who told you ?” he 
demanded. “Well, it’s what everybody 
says,” replied Blanche. “ Everybody 
says a great deal that isn’t true,” con- 
tinued Ralph gloomily. 

Blanche’s visit was drawing to a close. 
She had enjoyed a most delightful time, 
and was preparing to return home. At 
last Ralph decided to accompany her 
and they both said Au Revoir to Elsie. 

They had traveled for four hours and 
were nearing their destination when, 
without the least warning, a terrible 
crash occurred — their train had been 

1 _ ^ 


99 


The Tragedy That Wins 


struck from the rear by a fast express. 
Cars were piled up in every direction, 
and the scene was terrible to behold. 

The shrieks of the injured were heard, 
and confusion reigned everywhere. 
Ralph was not seriously injured, but 
Blanche could not be found. Unfor- 
tunately she was the only one of the 
many passengers fatally injured, and 
died before reaching home. Ralph was 
broken-hearted, and in his sorrow forgot 
Elsie and thought his only love was lost 
to him forever. 

St. James’ Church was filled to its 
utmost, the occasion being the celebra- 
tion of Solemn Requiem Mass. Miss 
Blanche Myers was a highly esteemed 
young woman, and had a large circle of 
friends. Ralph and Elsie were among 
the mourners, but more estranged than 
if hundreds of miles intervened. 

Before taking his departure to the 
west he had to pass the village school on 
his way to the station, and could not help 


lOO 


Lost and Found 


hearing the remark : “ Poor Mr. Dens- 
more is heart-broken over the death of 
an acquaintance of a few short weeks, 
while he never gives a thought to Miss 
Brown whom he had known and loved 
from childhood.” Loved '" — did he love 
her? This was the question he asked 
himself, and he could not answer it. 
Are we really far asunder? I wonder, or 
am I indifferent to her ? 

With faint hope of setting it aright, he 
thought he would enter and say good- 
bye. 

The result is he prolonged his stay 
and soon realized that his fondness for 
Miss Myers was short-lived. 

It is not hard to surmise that he learned 
in a short time that there is no love 
like the “ old love.’' 


lOI 


A SAD ENDING. 


It was February, 1878. In an old- 
fashioned deserted mansion overlooking 
Manila bay on one side and a long 
stretch of green country on the other sat 
two men busily engaged with a map. 

The elder, a middle-aged, gray-haired 
man, with a dignified and commanding 
appearance, was General Chase, Com- 
mander-in-Chief of the United States 
Army, which was then at war with the 
Spaniards. The other was his son. 
Captain Phil Chase. He was a fine 
looking young fellow of about twenty- 
three years of age, with black eyes and 
jet-black hair. 

They were expecting an attack at any 
moment, and were discussing how they 
could best repulse it. 

“ I think they will attack our left wing, 
captain. See that it is well protected, 
and place your battery on the hill to the 
west.’' 


102 


A Sad Ending 


“All right, General, I’ll do it imme- 
diately. But before I go, father, give 
me your hand. I fear we are going to 
have some hard fighting to-night.” 

The General took his son’s hand and 
looked up into his dark eyes. A close 
observer might have noticed that there 
was a twitch in the old man’s face as he 
looked up at his son. They were no 
longer general and captain, but father 
and son. 

“ Remember lad, if we have a battle 
to-night, to fight as the Chases have 
always fought and if either of us is killed, 
let it be said, that he died the death of a 
brave soldier.” 

In answer the boy pressed his father’s 
hand tighter. Then, without a word, 
they separated. 

The father was proud of his boy as he 
watched his departing figure, for he knew 
that there wasn’t a braver or truer heart 
in the army than his son’s and he knew 
that he could trust him always. 

103 


The Tragedy That Wins 


As Captain Phil stepped from the 
house, the amber light of sunset was tip- 
ping the tree-tops and the gloom of the 
coming dusk made blacker shadows 
gather in the hollows and recesses, vis- 
ible through the aisles of brown trunks. 
A faint breeze stirred the trees and the 
oft-reiterated cry of an owl was heard. 

He had not gone far when he heard a 
tumult over near the store-room. Pull- 
ing his pistol from his belt he hastened 
to investigate, but as he did so the crack 
of a pistol rang through the air. He 
fired after the retreating figure and then 
fell to the ground with the blood flowing 
from his side. 

Then he heard shots rattling forth, as 
if by magic, on all sides. He knew the 
battle had begun. As he lay there on 
the ground looking at the stars and 
moon casting their ghostly light on the 
trees, he thought of what his father had 
said to him a short while before. There 
was a pang in his heart, when he thought 
104 


A Sad Ending 


that he would have no share in the battle, 
for which he had longed so much. When 
he was picked up he was almost dead 
from loss of blood. 

Meanwhile the battle was raging 
fiercely. Men were mowed down like 
grass before the death-dealing shots and 
the ground for miles around was cov- 
ered with the dead. At last, during the 
night of the third day, what was left of 
the Spanish army retreated under cover 
of the darkness. 

It was the first day Captain Phil was 
able to leave his bed. He had just 
finished his breakfast when his father 
was brought in mortally wounded. At 
first the sight of the still form on the 
stretcher almost overcame him, but he 
soon recovered himself. Going over to 
the cot, he grasped his father’s hand, 
already grown cold. As he did so the 
old man opened his eyes. 

Phil, my boy, I am glad to see you 
well again, for you are young yet and 
105 


The Tragedy That Wins 


your country needs you. Don’t worry 
about me. My minutes are few on this 
earth. Always love your country, my 
lad, and give for her the last drop 
of your blood. It is easy to die when 
you know that you have done your duty 
and won.” 

Uttering these words he heaved a 
sigh and died. 

A big tear, which he could no longer 
restrain, rolled down Phil’s cheek. 
Kissing the cold forehead, he covered 
the body and departed, sad and heavy 
of heart. 

The general’s orderly afterwards told 
Phil that his father, at the head of his 
men, had met the commander of the 
opposing army, and they both fought it 
out hand-to-hand. As General Chase 
thrust his sword into his adversary, a 
stray bullet had killed him. 


THE HOUSES OF HOSSE AND 
MONTEFORT. 


“ Ah — I have you there, my Lord ; — 
one more move, and methinks it will be 
checkmate.” 

“ Not yet, O learned clerk. Here are 
our forces, marshaled for the battle — 
this board the field, these pieces of 
yellow ivory the hostile armaments. 
My king is down, but still about him the 
fight sways gallantly. Thou didst not 
count upon my queen, Gervase. See, 
at last ! Bravo ! Sir Priest, you who 
did crow so loud, look to your spurs.” 

'‘Nay — yes, ’tis yours, my Lord. 
Your queen has saved the day. There, 
now, is one good turn the gentle sex 
has done you. Shall we play again ? ” 

“Nay, I have had enough, Gervase. 
See yonder sunbeam, which dances with 
the noble company upon the chess- 
board. It has traveled far since we be- 


107 


The Tragedy That Wins 


gan our pastime, and it seems to beckon 
me out into the bright air of afternoon, 
for a ride beneath the trees/’ 

Norman Montefort pushed back his 
chair as he spoke, and took up from a 
table at his hand a carved and inlaid 
lute. For a moment his fingers strayed 
aimlessly among the strings, while his 
eyes gazed towards the window and the 
sunbeams. Then, after a soft prelim- 
inary chord, he swept off into a strain 
of great, yet melancholy, beauty. 

The few rays of yellow sunlight which 
found their way through the small 
Gothic window, cut in the deep wall of 
granite, showed to advantage his fine 
face and figure, just in the prime of 
youthful manhood. The close-fitting 
doublet and hose of velvet and crimson 
silk, revealed a form of graceful yet 
sturdy mould. Nut-brown, wavy hair, 
worn in long curls after the fashion of 
the times, shadowed a nobly-propor- 
tioned brow. His features v/ere strong 
io8 


Houses of Hosse and Montefort 


and aquiline, yet softened with a smile 
which played ever and anon about his 
lips, and his dark eyes held in their 
depths something which told at once of 
the dreams of the student and the pas- 
sions of the soldier. 

As the last echoes of his lute were 
lost in the recesses of the chamber, he 
rose and faced his companion, who had 
transferred his attention from the chess- 
men to a beautifully-transcribed copy of 
the Iliad, and was reading to himself the 
sonorous lines of the old Greek poet, 
while with a white and slender hand, he 
beat time to the flowing rhythm. 

“From chess to Greek, Gervase? 
And what is your hero doing now ?” 

“ Listen, my lord — most beautiful. 
The goddess — 

“ Nay, a truce to your goddesses, and 
all her foolish sex. Achilles is a noble 
pattern for all youth — but Athene, and 
her tribe of heavenly sisters, with their 
eternal loves and bickerings — bah — ’tis 
109 


The Tragedy That Wins 


enough to sour a man forever on the 
poets.” 

“ Be not so wroth, my lord. Homer 
is patient ; let him bide here until another 
time. What think you of these verses, 
of a more modern hand, and sent me by 
no less a critic than our good Lord 
Chancellor.” 

“ Love ditties. I’ll wager, every one of 
them. Ah, Gervase, life is too short, 
and heaven’s air too sweet, for such poor 
maunderings.” 

Maun derings? I am but a priest 
and scholar, small things these days in 
the eyes of the great world; yet I can 
feel the beauty of a flowing line, be it of 
grief or joy, of love or hate. Carp not 
at the blindfold boy, my lord; he and 
his pretty sisters have not harmed you. 
I look for the day when even thy per- 
verse heart will open to their knocking. 

“Do you, in good sooth, Gervase? 
Nay, when I go about crying like a 
scalded cat, and dewing all the meadows 


no 


Houses of Hosse and Montefort 


with my tears, tie up my heels to my 
head, and hang me beside my shield on 
yonder hook. You speak of love, Ger- 
vase, what is love to me? Will love 
feed an army? hold a garrison? Nay, 
believe me, it is a poor, blind, half- 
starved orphan, fit only to sit beneath 
green trees, and sigh, and sigh, and sigh, 
until the very branches are swayed with 
the melancholy breeze. It lives but on 
honeyed words, speaks but with per- 
fumed breath, and its habitation, my 
Gervase, is but in the hearts of poor, 
soft fools, whose wits flew out at the 
window as love entered in at the door.'' 
The young priest smiled goodnatu redly, 
and, drawing his chair more into the sun- 
light, turned again to his copy of poems. 

From the casement, with the sunshine, 
came the odor of sweet spring flowers. 
A wild rosebush, which had found a foot- 
hold upon the grey sides of the ancient 
turret, twined its blossoms about the 
window, and a few graceful stems with 


The Tragedy That Wins 


their sweet flowers, had crept within the 
deep arch of the wall, and hung close at 
hand in the sunshine. 

After a few turns in moody silence up 
and down the room, Montefort strode to 
the window and plucked a spray of rose- 
buds. 

“Here, Gervase,'’ he said, “here is 
the love your poets rave about, a pretty 
plaything. See — look at the dainty 
petals so colored with pink and tints of 
white. And inhale their perfume, full 
of the sweet dews of heaven. But there 
— let them lie there for a week, among 
my chessmen — and what have we then ? 
A withered, rotting weed, fit only to be 
cast back into that corruption from 
which these smiling flowers drew their 
beauty. But come, a” — 

“ My lord ! ” 

A burly man-at-arms, stained with hard 
riding, a bloody handkerchief bound about 
his forehead, and in his left hand a broken 
steel cap, had entered unperceived. 


Houses of Hosse and Montefort 


“My lord,” he went on, “a party of 
armed men have taken the old castle of 
Gorlois upon your Lordship’s frontiers. 
They have raised the flag of the German 
Prince of Hosse. I passed, and they 
bade me dismount and salute one they 
called the Seneschal. They were crazed 
with wine, my lord, and when I rode on 
called out curses after me. Like your 
true man-at-arms I answered curse for 
curse, and then in the fight that followed 
this Seneschal, who is more devil than 
man, beat down my guard ; and here I 
am, my lord, with a broken head and a 
splintered helm.” 

“Gorlois? The Prince of Hosse? 
Have the leech look to thy wound. 
Here is a gold piece to ease thy pain ; 
bid the armourer for me, to give thee a 
new head piece from the arsenal. Thou 
hast done well.” 

“ And who is this Prince of Hosse ? ” 
he asked angrily after the soldier had 
left the room. “ Some insolent braggart 
113 


The Tragedy That Wins 


from across the Rhine to riot upon my 
frontiers, to cut down my men-at-arms. 
By the bloody hand of my father, the 
Prince of Hosse shall rue the day he 
touched thrall of mine. Nay, Gervase, 
spare me thy gentle prattle of forgive- 
ness. 

“ Burchard ! Ho, Burchard ! Come 
hither. Thou art my Seneschal — we 
ride to-morrow against the castle of Gor- 
lois ; summon my men ; you saw Borgne 
of the Iron Hand, set upon and wounded 
by a gang of ruffians. Haste thee, Bur- 
chard, we ride for vengeance. 

Gervase, thou mayest bide at home, 
if such work suits thee not. There is no 
law but steel ; insult breeds insult ; no 
gentler means than bloodshed and death 
can pale the terrors of robbery and vio- 
lence. But come — the sun still lingers 
in the heavens — to-morrow’s fight may 
wait until to-morrow. To-day let us 
enjoy the life that God has given us. 
What say you to a ride among the trees. 


Houses of Hosse and Montefort 


ere the dusk of evening has hid the 
green tints of their foliage? Ho, my 
grooms, to horse ! ” 


II. 

Down a broad forest road, upon which 
the sun, now almost sunk from view be- 
hind the treetops, cast through their 
branches golden bars of light, galloped 
a wild cavalcade. At their head rode 
Norman Montefort, seated upon a large 
and spirited Pomeranian warhorse. At 
his right hand. Father Gervase rode with 
practiced grace a smaller, but no less 
perfect bay, whose small head, fine limbs 
and arching neck told of an Arab an- 
cestry. Upon the left galloped Burch- 
ard the Seneschal, and behind them fol- 
lowed a handful of glittering men-at- 
arms, wearing the blue and silver of the 
House of Montefort. 

For an hour they galloped on, the 
horses pounding along the hard and 
even road, and the gay cloaks of the 
115 


The Tragedy That Wins 


cavaliers streaming in the wind. Fin- 
ally they drew rein, and after a short 
rest beneath the trees, commenced, at a 
more sober pace, the journey homeward. 

Montefort and the young priest were 
chatting gayly on the various topics of 
woodcraft, heraldry and war, with now 
and then a word upon some more 
scholarly, if less interesting subject. 
Burchard had fallen back with the men- 
at-arms, who, some two spear-lengths 
behind their leaders, were singing to 
themselves one of the old lovesongs of 
Lorraine. Dusk was changing into 
early evening ; ever and anon the deep 
notes of a bell, tolling in some distant 
monastery, were borne to their ears ; 
and off in the forest on either hand 
gleamed the fires of the charcoal- 
burners. 

The talk of the two leaders had 
turned to the philosophy of the schools, 
and they were arguing the respective 
merits of Thomas of Aquin and Duns 

ii6 


Houses of Hosse and Montefort 


Scotus, when, upon a turn in the road, 
came to their ears from the gathering 
darkness, the sound of an advancing 
squadron of cavalry. In a moment 
Duns Scotus was forgotten. In those 
uncertain times, when force held in his 
mailed hand the scales of law and jus- 
tice, every man was a foe until he proved 
himself a friend. Montefort, with his 
handful of followers, withdrew among 
the trees, which overlooked the road, 
and whence, as occasion required, he 
could either fight or flee, with small 
chance of being surrounded by over- 
whelming numbers. Lights flashed 
from the darkness, and in a moment a 
strange sight met his view. Twenty 
knights-bannerets, armed in complete 
mail, rode in advance; a hundred or 
more squires and men-at-arms, well 
mounted, and in perfect order, followed 
them. Most wonderful of all, sur- 
rounded by a dozen youths bearing 
torches, and waited on by four stately 


The Tragedy That Wins 


knights, dressed in their robes of peace, 
rode a young girl upon a great black 
charger. The cavalcade drew up for a 
moment right beneath the hillock where 
Norman Montefort stood by his horse 
among the trees. There seemed to be 
some uncertainty about the way, for the 
knight who led the van dismounted, and 
approaching the lady’s side, stood for a 
few minutes in earnest conversation. 
Her horse was restive, and as she 
leaned forward a little in the saddle, 
Montefort saw something slip from her 
girdle, glisten a moment in the torch- 
light, and fall to the ground. He 
thought of it but for a moment. His 
eyes had something better to look upon. 
The light of the torches fell full upon 
the girlish face before him, and it seemed 
to him that, out of the darkness of the 
night, they had conjured up a vision 
from Paradise. Never had he beheld 
such beauty — never such just proportion 
— never such cheeks, such lips, such 

ii8 


Houses of Hosse and Montefort 


eyes ! He bent forward into the dark- 
ness which surrounded him, while his 
heart beat as it had not done on the 
field of battle. The girl was a picture 
of the most perfect loveliness. An 
abundance of dark, wavy hair, caught 
back with a golden clasp, fell about her 
shoulders. Dark, olive skin, through 
whose clear surface, upon her cheeks, 
glowed the delicate pink of youth and 
health, matched the deep, flashing 
beauty of her eyes. The effect of most 
perfect features, cast in a high Roman 
style of beauty, graced with a sweet and 
womanly expression, came to him like a 
dream, unknown before, sweeter than 
the poets had ever sung. 

As the cavalcade moved on he fol- 
lowed it with his eyes until the lights had 
disappeared around a turning in the 
road, and only an expiring torch which 
a page had thrown away dimly lit up the 
darkness. 

“ Come, gentlemen, let us go,” he 
119 


The Tragedy That Wins 


said, and led his charger back upon the 
road. When all had mounted he was 
still standing at his horse’s head. He 
flung the bridle to a groom and strode 
over to the sputtering torch. He groped 
a moment upon the roadway and then 
thrust something into his bosom. 

“Yes, I thought so,” he muttered to 
himself, and springing lightly upon his 
steed urged him with whip and spur to- 
wards home. Late that night with his 
hand upon the shoulder of Father Ger- 
vase, he followed the long file of his re- 
tainers from the banqueting hall. 

As they passed before a little shrine 
of the Holy Virgin where a lamp burned 
brightly, he paused, and drew from his 
bosom a small and dainty dagger, in a 
golden sheath and encrusted with pre- 
cious stones. He held it up an instant 
in the light, and read upon its jeweled 
hilt — Aletheia de C. 

“ My Gervase,” he said, “ I beg thy 
pardon for my idle words to- day; I spoke 


120 


Houses of Hosse and Montefort 


in folly. Come to my chamber ere thou 
goest to bed, I wish to talk with thee. 
And, Gervase, bring with thee my lute 
and the book of poems we spoke about 
to-day, I fain would test their merit. 

III. 

The shrill notes of a bugle, echoing 
and re-echoing from the walls of the 
castle courtyard, awoke the garrison 
next day at sunrise. 

With five knights and a hundred men 
at arms, Montefort set out for castle 
Gorlois. Father Gervase had stood at 
the drawbridge and wished him God- 
speed and a safe return. 

They were but a few miles upon the 
road when a herald, bearing a trumpet 
and with all the insignia of his order, 
spurred up to them and asked the way 
to Castle Montefort. He bore a scroll 
stamped with the sign manual of the 
House of Hosse, and summoning Nor- 
man, Lord Montefort, to Gorlois, to 


The Tragedy That Wins 


render fealty, as the paper said in lofty 
terms, to his over-lord and suzerain. 

Montefort said nothing, but ordered 
Burchard to give the herald a fitting 
largess and tell him they would ride with 
him to Gorlois. Yet within his heart he 
resolved that he would pay his fealty 
with his sword. 

An hour’s pleasant ride brought them 
within sight of Gorlois. The scene was 
a most peaceful one. Over the keep a 
broad flag flapped lazily in the breeze. 
In the distance could be seen the clear 
waters of the Rhine flashing in the 
morning sun. The castle was all un- 
prepared. The drawbridge was down, 
and half a dozen grooms were exercising 
as many horses upon the grassy plain. 
The last part of the journey had been 
through the forest, among whose trees 
Montefort and his party rode concealed, 
unil the trees came to an end a few hun- 
dred yards from the castle wall. In a 
moment all was activity. Men could be 


122 


Houses of Hosse and Montefort 


seen running with their armor to the 
walls, the grooms galloped in, and the 
drawbridge slowly began to rise. Yet 
so sudden had been the appearance of 
Montefort, that ere it was three feet 
from the ground he and five of his 
knights had raced up the slope upon 
their horses and leaped them upon the 
ascending bridge. Borne down by the 
weight upon it, the bridge sank back 
again into its place ; in another instant 
a hundred men had dashed across and 
into the fortalace. Ten minutes sharp 
fighting, in which the defenders were 
outnumbered and overmatched at every 
point, and the castle was taken. 

Montefort, hot and exhausted from the 
fight, his helm gone, his armor battered, 
set off to find the Prince of Hosse. He 
picked his way leisurely from room to 
room, and finally found himself in what 
seemed to have been, in more prosper- 
ous days, the Hall of Justice. As he 
entered the room, a tall and strong 
123 


The Tragedy That Wins 


figure, clad in complete armor, advanced 
to meet him. 

“ Are you the Prince of Hosse ? ” he 
cried. “No,"’ answered the other, “but 
I am Guy Echard, the Seneschal of this 
castle which you have dared to attack 
and plunder. Draw and defend your- 
self.” 

In a moment both swords had leaped 
from their scabbards. Montefort, though 
younger and lighter than his adversary, 
was practiced in the art of swordsman- 
ship from childhood, and parried with 
ease the blows which were rained upon 
him. He fought steadily and craftily, 
and after some doxen cuts and thrusts, 
caught his opponent’s weapon near the 
hilt, half dragged it by a violent twist 
from his hands, and then, ere the man 
could recover his guard, sprang back to 
finish the fight by a single sweeping blow. 
But while his sword was poised in mid- 
air, a woman’s scream rang out behind 
him, and caused him to stay his hand. 

124 


Houses of Hosse and Montefort 


In another moment, the flat of a two- 
handed sword fell upon his uncovered 
head, and he sank in a heap upon the 
tiled floor. 

When he opened his eyes again night 
had fallen. Two grim, old men-at-arms 
were arranging the couch on which some 
unknown hand had placed him. A few 
chance words from his attendants told 
him the whole story. 

Five hundred men, flying the banner 
of the Prince of Hosse, of which the gar- 
rison had been but a fractional part, 
came up shortly after the men-at-arms 
of Montefort had captured the inner 
works; surprised the victors, who were 
intent upon some wine casks they had 
broached, and regained the castle. 
With a groan, as he realized what had 
occurred, Montefort lapsed back again 
into unconsciousness. 

He seemed to be dreaming. A brazier 
burned in the centre of the room, and 
threw a ruddy glow upon his couch. A 
125 


The Tragedy That Wins 


gentle hand was bathing his fevered 
brow. He turned his head a little. . . . 
Dark, wavy tresses, caught back with a 
golden clasp, an olive skin, through 
whose clear surface glowed the pink — 

Did he really dream ? Had some 
fairy transported him to last night’s 
station among the trees ? — or was it — 
or — 

“ Aletheia,” he murmured half aloud, 
and then, as there came a throb of re- 
turning consciousness, opened wide his 
eyes, and raised his head. 

It was no dream. The sweet face 
was the same, the luminous eyes, the 
soft, dark, wavy hair — and with a sigh 
he sank back again among the pillows. 

Aletheia de C . — the name upon the 
jewelled dagger-hilt. 

“Mademoiselle,” he said, “thou didst 
lose thy dagger on the road last night. 
Thou will find it in my tunic, where I 
wore it above my heart. Had I but 
strength to rise” — 

126 


Houses of Hosse and Montefort 


I thank you, Lord Montefort And 
now, tell me what meant thy attack upon 
our garrison ? Thy over-lord ” — 

“ The Prince of Hosse ? Why, lady, 
I know him not. Must I pay homage to 
every upstart German who claims that 
honor ? ” 

“You know him not? Nay, the 
Prince of Hosse has gone to his long 
rest Not the Prince, but the Princess, 
now rules the castles which fly his flag. 
And methinks it is scant courtesy, my 
lord, when Aletheia de Corienna, Prin- 
cess of the ancient House of Hosse, 
asks homage from those whose fathers 
honored hers three hundred years ago, 
to answer her by seizing her castle, and 
slaying her faithful servants.” 

“My lady,” he answered, “to thee, 
my true Suzeraine, my over-lord for all 
time, I render homage. Take thou my 
fealty, — from my heart I offer it, — and 
forgive me.” 

“As it is offered, so I receive it. I 


127 


The Tragedy That Wins 


hear not of forgiveness. My house and 
thine had long forgotten the bonds 
which held them of old. I trust we are 
friends, my lord ? ’’ 

On a bright morning, two days after 
the recapture of Gorlois, a dazzling 
cavalcade set out along the winding 
forest road. And when Father Gervase, 
spying from a distance the flag of 
Montefort, rode out to meet his friend, 
he was not a little surprised to find 
among all that courtly train of knights 
and squires, one fair captive. 

And for all time the houses of Hosse 
and Montefort were united. 


128 


BOSCHOVICH’S STRATAGEM. 


** So this is the prisoner ? ” 

Nicholas Kuzanieff the governor of 
the Amur province looked inquiringly 
at the man before him. 

“Well, what have you to say why I 
should not pass sentence on you ? 

“ Nothing, your excellency,’' replied 
the prisoner, one Michael Boschovich, 
“ except to repeat that what I said before 
was true.'' 

“ What ! Do you still persist in saying 
that those articles you published in the 
‘Novoe Amur ' were true ? Why, that 
shows Nihilistic sympathy." 

“True, indeed, were the reports, your 
excellency, but your suspicions of Nihi- 
lism are false." 

“Fool," hissed the governor, “the 
consequences be on your head! You 
are hereby sentenced to five years in 
the mines of Siberia." 

The young man staggered and but 
129 


The Tragedy That Wins 


for the supporting hand of the guard 
would have fallen. Then straightening 
up, in a calm and clear tone he addressed 
the governor. “ So, Nicholas Kuzanieff, 
you thought to buy my silence by threats, 
that I might not expose your double- 
dealing and crimes. And having re- 
fused, you think to get rid of me by 
sending me off to Siberia. But remem- 
ber this, your day of retribution will 
come, and when you are sentenced, as 
you have wrongly sentenced me, I will 
be in the court room to mock you.’' 

For an instant the governor paled, 
then regaining his composure, he or- 
dered the prisoner to be led away. 

❖ 

Five years had rolled by. Michael 
Boschovich had died three years after 
entering prison, and Kuzanieff was still 
governor. Sitting, one afternoon in the 
late autumn in his private office enjoying 
his after-dinner cigar, he chuckled with 
satisfaction as he thought of the money 
130 


Boschovich’s Stratagem 


he had accumulated in five short years. 
In the midst of his reverie a knock was 
heard at the outer door, and a moment 
later the chief of the secret-service police 
enter accompanied by three officers. 

“Governor Kuzanieff,’' he said, “I have 
evidence in my possession showing that 
in the last month you have used some 
eighty thousand roubles of government 
money. You are therefore under arrest.” 

Without replying Kuzanieff put on his 
coat and hat and followed him. 

The day of the trial arrived and Kuza- 
nieff relying on his wealth and influence 
was confident of acquittal. “ How Bos- 
chovich thought he would gloat over my 
disgrace if he were alive, but,” he grimly 
smiled, “he is dead.” 

The trial had already begun when a 
reporter with note-book in hand walked 
down the aisle and took his place at the 
reporter’s table. 

Kuzanieff who had been glancing 
around the room suddenly gave a start 


The Tragedy That Wins 


and turned deathly pale when his eyes 
rested upon the tall and spare figure of 
the late comer. 

It was Michael Boschovich. 

Thereupon his former self-confidence 
seemed to desert him. He trembled in 
every limb. Try as he would he could 
not take his eyes from the reporter. 

At last the trial came to an end. He 
could make no reply to the judge’s ques- 
tionings, and with bowed head heard the 
judge sentence him to five years in 
Siberia. 

As he was being led from the court 
room the tall and spare reporter arose, 
and, pointing at the prisoner, smiled 
mockingly. 

❖ ❖ ❖ 

In his room that night Basil Muravofif, 
the noted actor, stood looking at a worn 
and battered photograph of his dead 
friend Michael Boschovich. “Ah, Michael, 
Michael,” said he, '‘to-day your promise 
was kept. You have had your revenge.” 

132 


A CLOSE SHAVE. 


Mrs. Kingston blames Henry, Henry 
blames the barber, the barber — well, as 
the saying goes, that is another story. 
But to my own. Mr. and Mrs. Henry 
Kingston were, according to their usual 
custom, to spend the “Glorious Fourth’' 
at Atlantic City. And thereby hangs 
my tale. 

“ My dear,” said Mrs. Kingston on 
the evening preceding the “ Fourth,” 
“ we shall go down to-morrow morning 
on the nine o’clock train.” 

“ But, my dear,” returned Mr. Kings- 
ton, “ I have to attend to some business 
in the morning, and also to get shaved. 
The shops are closed now. They will 
not open ’till half-past eight o’clock in 
the morning. Why not wait for a later 
train ? ” 

“ Henry Kingston,” said that gentle- 
man’s now irate spouse, “I said nine 
o’clock. Do you understand ? ” 

133 


The Tragedy That Wins 


“Yes, my dear,” meekly assented 
Henry, “ I understand,” yielding, no 
doubt, to some hypnotic power of his 
wife. 

“Well, then,” continued Mrs. Kings- 
ton, “ to save time and trouble I will go 
on ahead, buy the tickets and meet you 
in the train over in the Camden 
terminal.” 

Now there are two terminals, the 
Pennsylvania and the Reading. Mrs. 
Kingston had not designated which one 
of the two. Mr. Kingston, as they had 
previously ridden on the Pennsylvania, 
inferred that she meant that station. 
But of this anon. 

5 |< * * * * * 

The Fourth of July sun rose bright 
and clear. Bright and early, too, rose 
Mrs. Kingston and with her Henry 
prepared to make as early a start as 
possible under such trying circum- 
stances. 

Having breakfasted, Henry left the 
134 


A Close Shave 


house to attend to the aforesaid busi- 
ness and incidentally to get shaved, 
having promised Mrs. Kingston to 
meet her on the train. 

At half-past eight o’clock Mrs. Kings- 
ton boarded a car, and riding down to 
Front and Chestnut, got off. Here for 
the first time it suddenly occurred to 
her that in her haste she had not named 
which station. 

“ Pshaw, Henry will know I meant the 
Reading, because it is the nearer.” 
After delivering herself of this bit of 
womanly logic Mrs. Kingston purchased 
the tickets, crossed over on the ferry, 
and disembarking, entered the waiting 
train. 

At about five minutes of nine Mr. 
Henry Kingston walked through the 
ferry entrance of the Pennsylvania rail- 
road and started to pass through the 
gate leading to the slip. He was stopped 
at the gate by an official who asked him, 
in no uncertain tones, to show his ticket. 
135 


The Tragedy That Wins 


Remembering that his wife had agreed 
to meet him on the other side with the 
railroad tickets he retraced his steps, 
bought a ferry ticket, and crossed over. 

Arriving on the other side he disem- 
barked and boarding the waiting train 
walked through in search of his wife. 
She was not there. Amazed and mysti- 
fied he stepped off and was about to 
board the train on the adjoining track, 
thinking perhaps she had got on the 
wrong one, when a tall, keen-eyed man 
approached and laying his hand on 
Kingston’s shoulder said, “I want you.” 

“ Want me ! ” exclaimed Kingston, 
much surprised. 

Oh, don’t look so surprised, Mr. 
Charlie Takem. You’ve made a clever 
escape but the game’s up.” 

I don’t understand,” said the now- 
bewildered Kingston. 

“ Say, that’s too thin,” said his captor, 
taking off Kingston’s hat and looking at 
his closely- cropt hair. (Mr. Kingston, 
136 


A Close Shave 


by the way, always wore his “ locks ’’ 
closely shorn.) “ Tell that to the warden 
at Trenton.” So saying, he hurried 
Kingston into a waiting train. 

At precisely the same time that Mr. 
Kingston was unfortunately appre- 
hended, Charles Takem, late of Trenton, 
and state’s prison New Jersey, was 
boarding a Reading train preparatory to 
going to Atlantic City. As his friends 
all declared, “ Charlie has a very taking 
way about him.” For being cashier of 
an up-the-state bank he decamped, “ tak- 
ing ” something like fifty thousand dol- 
lars. He in turn was soon taken and 
sentenced to ten years in prison. Three 
weeks after and on the third of July he 
escaped. 

Walking through the train, Takem 
had reached the last car when he was 
accosted by a strange female with this 
salutation : Ah, so there you are, 

Henry. Well, I had almost given you 
up and was about to get off the train.” 
137 


The Tragedy That Wins 


The person who addressed him was a 
woman of some forty summers, well 
dressed and of a prepossessing appear- 
ance. 

“ By jove,” thought Takem, “she takes 
me for her husband. Here’s a rare 
chance to elude the police.” Then aloud 
he answered, “ Yes, my dear, I had a 
close call of it.” 

“ Come, sit down,” said Mrs. Kings- 
ton. 

On the way to the shore Mrs. Kings- 
ton spoke of various matters pertaining 
to Kingston’s business. From all this 
Takem, though ignorant of the matters, 
managed to extricate himself. Mrs. 
Kingston had been watching him in- 
tently for some time much to Takem’s 
uneasiness, when at last she spoke. 

“ Henry, what in the world is the 
matter with your voice ? It sounds as if 
it were cracked.” 

“ My dear,” said Takem, “ I believe I 
have a cold.” 

138 


A Close Shave 


Alighting from the train at the station, 
Mrs. Kingston with Takem in tow pro- 
ceeded to the boardwalk. 

“Now for a dip in the surf,” said she. 

“ No, my dear, I could never think of 
venturing in with this cold.” The truth 
was he had a peculiar scar on his arm 
which he feared would betray him. 

“Henry Kingston,” began Mrs. Kings- 
ton. 

“ Mrs. Kingston, I shall not go in.” 

What change has come upon the man, 
thought Mrs. Kingston. For Henry as 
we know was easily persuaded. 

“Very well, then,” she answered, 
“ since you do not care to bathe, sup- 
pose we attend the bankers’ convention 
now in session on Young’s Pier. That 
will surely interest you. (Henry is 
watchman of the Second National Bank 
on L street.) 

Interest me, thought Takem, well I 
should say so ; they would catch me in a 
minute. Then he answered, “No, my 
139 


The Tragedy That Wins 


dear, the truth is, I feel indisposed and 
do not care to attend.’^ 

Believing that he was really unwell, 
Mrs. Kingston proposed that they sit 
down in one of the nearby pavilions and 
enjoy the ocean breezes. 

So quickly did the time pass that it 
was almost half-past twelve o'clock be- 
fore Mrs. Kingston at length proposed 
that they should dine. Proceeding up 
the “walk” they came to a fakir who 
was offering to guess within three pounds 
of anyone’s weight or weigh them free 
of charge. 

“ Do get on, Henry, and see if he can 
guess yours.” 

Feebly protesting, Takem at last con- 
sented. The dial registered one hun- 
dred and forty pounds. 

“Why, Henry, you must be losing 
weight. A month ago you weighed one 
hundred and fifty-five pounds.” 

“I’ve been working too hard, my 
dear.” 

140 


A Close Shave 


At this juncture a newsboy came run- 
ning from the opposite direction crying 
“extra! extra! remarkable escape of 
bank convict.” Procuring a paper, 
Takem read of his own escape and also 
of the false arrest of Mr. Kingston in con- 
nection with the case. The article went 
on to say that the ex-cashier convict was 
still believed to be hiding in the state. 

“Well,” thought Takem, “this ex- 
plains the lady’s mistaking me for her 
husband. We must be like two peas in 
a pod.” 

Turning to Mrs. Kingston he ex- 
claimed, “ my dear, a big fire is raging 
near our place of business, and I shall 
have to return on the next train. But 
you may, if you wish, come up on a later 
train.” 

“ No, Henry, I shall go with you.” 

At Winslow Junction the train 
stopped, and Takem, saying that he was 
going forward to the smoker, walked 
through to the first coach and, getting 


The Tragedy That Wins 


off unnoticed by Mrs. Kingston, boarded 
a train just pulling out for Jersey City. 

Some ten minutes later Mrs. Kings- 
ton picked up the paper which Takem 
had carelessly left on the seat. The 
first thing she saw was the account of 
the ex-cashier’s escape. Horrified she 
read of Kingston’s arrest, and then the 
truth suddenly dawned upon her — her 
companion was the convict. His 
changed voice, his refusal to go into the 
surf or to attend the bankers’ conven- 
tion and the loss of fifteen pounds in 
weight by “hard work,” were all made 
clear to her. Calling the brakeman, she 
sent him forward to the smoker to look 
for the “smooth-faced, brown-eyed, 
medium-sized gentleman with the 
closely-cropped hair.” The gentleman 
could not be found; he was not on the 
train. 

“The wretch,” gasped Mrs. Kingston, 
“ and yet what a gentlemanly and taking 
way he had about him.” In which latter 

142 


A Close Shave 


sentiment the bank people, be it under- 
stood, unanimously agree with her. 

As for Mr. Kingston — well, that is 
another story. 


143 


A WAR-TIME TRAGEDY. 


In the midst of all the hardships which 
a combination of two such destructive 
enemies as war and a severe winter are 
bound to make, Boxley, the home of 
Squire Merton and of his wife and 
daughter, was comparatively fortunate. 
Perhaps this condition of affairs was 
owing to the fact that up to this time the 
British army had held undisputed sway 
over this section of New Jersey, for the 
Squire, let it be understood, was above 
all things, a staunch Tory. His only 
child, Jane, had been engaged to a 
British captain, Philip Edgerton, long 
before the war began, and was only 
waiting a happier time to become his 
bride. 

If there was peace at Boxley, it was 
more than one could say for the rest of 
the land. Washington’s success at 
Princeton had worked the country up to 
144 


A War-Time Tragedy 


a ferment of excitement. Every Whig 
whom the British successes had for 
the moment rendered fainthearted, every 
farmer whose crops or stock had been 
seized, every householder on whom 
troops had been quartered, forming 
themselves into parties, joined the 
American army in the foot-hills of New 
Jersey; or, acting on their own account, 
boldly engaged the British detachments 
and stragglers wherever they encoun- 
tered them. Secluded as the Mertons 
were, the principal achievements were 
too important not to reach them, and at 
length they heard how the Hessians had 
been defeated and put to flight, that 
Howe and Cornwallis had abandoned 
all the surrounding country and con- 
fined themselves to the mere possession 
of Brunswick, and the immediate neigh- 
borhood, and every foraging party sent 
out from these points was almost certain 
of a skirmish. 

It was this state of semi-blockade that 


145 


The Tragedy That Wins 


gave the Mertons their taste of war’s 
alarms. Late in February a company 
of foot and a half troop of horse, to- 
gether with a few wagons, made their 
appearance on the road and halted 
opposite the gates of Boxley. Although 
the Squire was suffering from gout, still 
this sight was sufficient to make him 
bear the agony of putting it to the floor, 
and bring him limping to the door. 

When the officers of the party had ap- 
proached nearer to him, the Squire 
cheerfully exclaimed, “ Why, its Phil and 
his cousin John Lewis. Welcome, lads! 
and all the more because I greatly feared 
it was another call the thieving Whigs 
were about to pay my farms. But come 
in, both of you, and tell your errand over 
the warmth of a bottle.” 

“ I am greatly afraid. Squire, that we 
will have to pay a visit to your barns in 
place of those same Whigs,” answered 
Captain Lewis. 

“What?” roared the enraged Squire. 

146 


A War-Time Tragedy 


“ Tis impossible that British regulars 
would thieve like the rebels ! ” 

“ I did my best, Squire,” moaned 
Philip. “ But somehow or other news 
came to headquarters that your barns 
were well filled, and as there is a scarcity 
of provisions, this is the outcome. But 
here is a chance to show your loyalty.” 

“The Devil take the lot of you,” was 
the Squire’s prompt expression of his 
loyalty. “As for you. Captain Edger- 
ton, let me not see your face around 
here again seeking my daughter if ye 
dare to do this thing.” 

Neither threats nor protestations nor 
curses served, however, to turn the 
marauders from their purpose. Once 
again the outbuilding and store-room of 
Boxley were ransacked and swept clear 
of their goodly-plenty, and as if to 
deepen the sense of iniquity the stable 
was made to furnish the means with 
which to complete the robbery. 

While the troops were scattered and 
147 


The Tragedy That Wins 


occupied in piling the plunder upon the 
sleds, a volley of something more potent 
than the Squire’s oaths and objurgations 
interrupted them. From behind the 
hedges came a discharge of guns and a 
dozen of the foraging party, including 
Captain Lewis, fell. A moment of wild 
confusion followed ; some of the British 
rushing to where the horses stood, found 
safety in flight, while the rest sought 
safety in the big barn. 

Here Captain Edgerton succeeded in 
forming them into some order, but only 
to find that most of the infantry had left 
their guns outside and also that the cav- 
alry had thrown aside their sabres to 
quicken the work. 

The Jersey militia had too often ex- 
perienced the effectiveness of British 
bayonets and sabres to care to face them 
openly and so they continued behind the 
hedge, and leisurely reloaded their guns. 
Still they, as well as the British, under- 
stood that time was against them, for the 
148 


A War-Time Tragedy 


fugitives would surely bring help, and 
as soon as it became obvious that those 
in the barn intended no sortie they as- 
sumed the initiative. 

Under cover of a volley from the 
hedge four men leaped forth, and ran for 
the cow-yard. Two of the infantry that 
guarded the windows, thrust forth their 
muskets and fired, but neither of their 
shots told, for the moment that they ap- 
peared five flashes came from the hedge, 
and the two dragoons rolled over in their 
last agonies. Before new men could 
take their places, the four runners had 
gained the shelter under the barn. 

Another moment developed the object 
of this movement, for through the cracks 
of the floor suddenly shone a red light, 
and with it came the crackling of burn- 
ing wood. A cry of terror broke from 
the British, and there was a wild rush 
for the door. As it rolled back a dozen 
guns echoed and re-echoed, and all the 
exposed men fell in a confused heap at 
149 


The Tragedy That Wins 


the opening — a sight which made all the 
others cautious. 

All pretence of discipline at once dis- 
appeared. The men paid not the slight- 
est regard to the commands of their 
officers, and one of them displayed a 
white flag through the window. Edger- 
ton, trying to prevent him, was caught 
and firmly held by at least a dozen 
hands. At that moment the flames 
burst forth, and the men, with the holder 
of the white flag at their head, rushed 
into the open and signalled their willing- 
ness to surrender. 

Instantly they were surrounded by the 
enemy, who but for their guns might 
have been a pack of farmers or field 
hands. One of them, evidently the 
leader, demanded : “ Do you surrender, 
and where is your leader?” 

“Yes!” shouted the British as they 
dragged their unwilling leader forward. 

“Give up your arms, then,” com- 
manded the leader of the guerillas. 

150 


A War-Time Tragedy 


‘T’ll die first,” answered Captain 
Edgerton, but another soldier caught 
hold of his wrist and twisted the sword 
from his hand. 

'‘We’ll give his high British pride a 
mighty good lesson, and teach you what 
murdering our generals and plundering 
our houses come to, — eh, men ? ” 

After the shout which greeted this 
remark had subsided, the leader again 
spoke : “ Some of you fellows start those 
sledges up the road. Have you got 
that officer ready yet ? ” 

“We’re ready, but he aint. Cap.,” 
answered some of the men. 

“ Up with him then, we’ll teach him a 
lesson.” 

That motley company, without pre- 
tence of order, set off on their long, 
weary night tramp through the snow. 
Behind them the flame of the barn 
mounting higher and higher in the air, 
ever threatening to catch house and all 
else, lighted the scene which greeted the 

151 


The Tragedy That Wins 


eyes of the frightened family, hastily 
leaving their home bright with color, 
save where the sv/inging body of the 
young and handsome captain threw a 
shifting shadow across a stretch of 
untrampled snow, even to the feet of her 
who loved him. 


A JAPANESE HERO. 


Japan, the “ Island Empire in the far 
East, which since the fierce war with 
China in 1894-5 has been compared to 
the young and valiant David in his con- 
flict with the giant Goliath, and which 
again in recent days has drawn the at- 
tention of the whole civilized world to 
blood-stained Manchuria, has excited a 
universal and intense interest in all that 
relates to her people. 

Crowned heads, wise politicians, mer- 
chants and business men are taking the 
liveliest interest in the Japanese, who 
have an attractiveness all their own on 
account of their many traits of valor, 
energy and patriotism. 

At the mere mention of Japan min- 
gled memories of joy and sorrow are 
awakened in the mind, for many have 
lost their lives in the bloody conflict that 
is still raging. During the memorable 
153 


The Tragedy That Wins 


battle of Kai Ski, when the Russians had 
defeated the Japanese and taken posses- 
sion of the town, Anjiro, who had dis- 
tinguished himself so valiantly during 
the fight, and had encouraged the others 
by his example and words, was found 
by a Chinese citizen badly wounded and 
unconscious. The latter, though hav- 
ing no love for the poor Jap, pitied 
him and knew the fate that awaited 
him if he fell into the hands of the Rus- 
sians. He determined to bring him 
into his home and disguise him as a 
cooley. He dressed his wounds as 
well as he could, but even at this 
the poor Jap was even more dead than 
alive. 

At last the victors with shouts of 
hilarity could be heard approaching, and 
presently a number of the Russian staff 
could be seen advancing. 

The home of the Chinese merchant 
was a prosperous and inviting-looking 
dwelling, and here the staff of Russian 
T54 


A Japanese Hero 


officers determined to enter for rest and 
consultation. 

After indulging in much eating and a 
great deal of drinking they became bois- 
terous, and Anjiro who was occupying 
an adjacent room became cognizant of 
the knowledge that would greatly benefit 
his country. He crept stealthily from 
his hiding place and was soon in such a 
position that he could, if opportunity 
permitted, steal their papers which re- 
vealed the plans of the Russian army. 
At an opportune time, when mirth was 
at its height, his chance came, he pur- 
loined the papers and at once started to 
deliver them into the hands of his coun- 
trymen. 

The journey he accomplished in safety 
owing to his disguise; and the Japanese 
tried to persuade him to remain with 
them, but he refused, saying such an 
act might cast suspicion upon his late 
friends. He knew he was not able to 
fight again and could not benefit the 

155 


The Tragedy That Wins 


cause he espoused. So he decided to 
return. Upon his arrival he found the 
Russians gone, not having missed the 
papers. He was beginning to think that 
all might yet be well with him and that 
they would not realize their loss, or if so, 
not remember where they left them. 
This hope was an illusion, for he now 
hears steps in the distance and voices 
can be discerned in angry tones, and the 
late guests are searching the house for 
their treasured papers. In the search, 
the hiding place of Anjiro is revealed 
and he is brought forth. His disguise 
is penetrated and he is accused of being 
a spy, and of stealing the papers. His 
guilt he freely admits, exonerating from 
all complicity in the act those who had 
sheltered and succored him. He was 
condemned to die, and was led to the 
garden. Here a Russian officer was 
commissioned to kill him, and drawing 
his sword advanced toward Anjiro. But 
the wily Jap was not to be taken off so 


A Japanese Hero 


unceremoniously. He grasped the sword 
from the unsuspecting Russian and 
stabbed him to the heart. Dashing on- 
ward he struck down another who 
opposed his escape, but a bullet from a 
third Russian laid him low in death, a 
martyr to his country. 


157 


THE UNLUCKY TOREADOR. 


The city of Madrid was bathed in all 
the splendor of the sun’s radiance, and 
the sprouting of every blade of grass 
welcomed the return of spring. Over 
the entire plaza the hum of content 
murmured, so enraptured was the popu- 
lace with nature’s new apparel. This 
was a spring which only the countries 
of Southern Europe can know. Snow 
during even the most severe winter is 
almost unknown, and the bite of frost is 
of only short duration. When the 
northern countries are struggling against 
the rigorous attacks of the element, 
Spain has begun to yield to the gentle 
influence of the African-blown wind, and 
her prolific soil to produce the best of 
fruits. Indeed, so enchanting is the 
spring in this country that nature her- 
self seems to have made this her abode. 

Such was the spring which favors our 
158 


The Unlucky Toreador 


story. On a particular day the city ap- 
peared in all the gorgeousness of its 
ancient tradition. Before the govern- 
mental buildings, bunting in profusion 
festooned the pillars and arches ; the 
homes of the aristocracy were decked 
with their coats-of-arms entwined with 
the national emblems, while along the 
avenues of commerce the banners and 
flags of Spain flapped to the breezes. 
The entire city had assumed an aspect 
of festivity. The school-boy loitered 
about the church munching at a pome- 
granate or boisterously beckoned his 
playmates to some new excitement. 
The girls, dark- eyed and tanned, brought 
garlands of flowers to their favorite altars 
or presented embroidery for the church 
to their favorite confessors. The cares 
of the elders seemed to have been left 
aside, for about the court house and in 
the principal squares the men loitered, 
sluggishly laboring with malodorous 
cheroots and cigarettes. 'However, these 
159 


The Tragedy That Wins 


things in Spain portend an “otium and 
a time of great festivity and an absence 
of all weighty anxieties. Well might 
men be glad, for the entire realm on 
this day celebrated the feast day of 
Spain’s patron Saint. 

During the forenoon hours the festive 
tranquillity was not disturbed. The 
majority preferred to celebrate the great 
day within doors or upon their verdant 
lawn. Hence, it was, that till past the 
noonday hour, activity was only known 
in its absence. Early in the afternoon, 
however, a particularly noteworthy ac- 
tivity might be observed among the peo- 
ple. Where, but a few minutes before, 
the streets were deserted, now streams 
of people began to wend their way to 
some distant point. Enthusiasm over 
some favorite sport was the key-note. 
Men clapped one another upon the 
backs and jocosely produced time- 
honored and time-worn coppers as if to 
stake upon a favorite in some contest. 
i6o 


The Unlucky Toreador 


Willingly were all bets accepted and 
goodnaturedly. A stranger might soon 
glean from these actions the complete 
story of the enthusiasm and the excite- 
ment of the populace. Castilian blood 
is soon set boiling over a bull-fight — for 
such it was that elicited this popular 
enthusiasm. 

Toward the northwestern section of the 
city there loomed up a gigantic octag- 
onal structure in which the national sport 
received its audiences. About its en- 
trance a surging mass of humanity sought 
admittance, and well might they struggle, 
for on that day there, was to be given a 
performance that bid fair to outrival any 
of such a character • given ever before 
within those walls. The fame of the 
young toreador had traveled the area of 
Spain, and fresh laurels did he win in 
every city of that great land. With such 
skill did he dispatch his adversary that 
he was classed as the most skillful of his 
day, though it was unassumingly that he 

i6i 


The Tragedy That Wins 


bore all his fame and chose no other 
appellation than his patronymic — Don 
Carlos. 

Part II. 

In the central part of the great city 
and in the very heart of this national fes- 
tivity, was living the one upon whom the 
thoughts of the populace were centered. 
But Don Carlos was of unassuming 
character and mien. He chose apart- 
ments that caused neither comment nor 
surprise. His home was an attic. Upon 
entrance one found it artistically, though 
not luxuriously furnished. The visitor 
to his home found himself first con- 
fronted with a magnificent painting of 
the Madonna and Child. About his 
couch were various pictures that tes- 
tified to the reverence he had for his 
favorite patron saints. Upon the wall 
was armament of ancient date whose ar- 
tistic arrangement lent much to the effect. 
Upon the farthest wall hung an immense 
breast-plate, while about it in various 

162 


The Unlucky Toreador 


positions were spears of great length. 
Upon another wall were fire-arms, once 
used by the Moorish invaders and cap- 
tured in some historic carnage. Each 
trifle in its place, gave an indescribable 
effect to the apartment. 

Seated in the centre of the room and 
apparently wrapped in thought sat Don 
Carlos. It was now past the noon hour 
and he was arrayed in gorgeous attire. 
It was obvious that he was prepared for 
some great scene, and his brow was 
furrowed by a frown. Before him were 
his writing materials and in his hand he 
held a quill. 

“There,” he exclaimed, throwing down 
the quill, “ I have done with it. Spain 
cries for my blood. To-day they pit me 
against a ferocious bull before which so 
many of my toreador friends have died. 
And now my blood must stain that arena. 
They cry for my blood and they shall 
have it ! I shall meet death as I have ever 
met it — without a fear. My will is now 
163 


The Tragedy That Wins 


drawn up. My all shall go to little 
Qugelo.” He stopped to wipe away 
the tears that now began to fall. Then 
with courage he arose and said: “O, 
away with this womanish habit/’ and 
going to a chest towards the wall he se- 
lected a case into which he deposited 
two long sharp-pointed swords. Then 
with the greatest calm he drew down the 
blinds, took one parting look about the 
room, and joined the great crowd on its 
way to the bull-fight. 

Long before Carlos arrived at the 
arena every available space was taken. 
Tier after tier was literally packed with 
sweltering humanity all struggling for a 
position from which the fight might be 
witnessed. Women and children occu- 
pied the lower tiers, while aged men 
were left to struggle with the rest. Ex- 
pectation soon simmered down to dis- 
content and a lull came over the arena. 
For many moments silence held all. 
When suddenly all arose and burst 

164 


The Unlucky Toreador 


forth into one long, vibrating cheer at 
the sight of the favorite Don Carlos. 

Bowing deferentially to the mob and 
pacing to the centre of the arena, Don 
Carlos shook the hand of the matador 
and ordered the release of his antago- 
nist. A breathless silence seized the 
mob as the bull emerged from his cage. 
Slowly it advanced to the centre, and 
here pawing the ground, bellowed forth 
its fearful cry. Stealthily the matador 
approached the bull and threw before its 
eyes the crimson flag. Angered, it 
plunged and bellowed. Adroitly ap- 
proaching, Don Carlos evaded each 
plunge of the bull and the populace ap- 
plauded. Rage now seized the bull, 
and his answers were a series of inter- 
rupted charges of madness and fury. 
His head, neck and shoulders were 
veritably full of the agonizing points of 
torture hurled at him and added much 
to the fury of the enraged beast. 
Then, as if awaking to the expectation 
165 


The Tragedy That Wins 


of the mob, the bull tore the ground and 
pursued the^ matador. Though skillful 
in his evading the bull, the matador 
would have been mangled to death in 
the bull’s rage had not Don Carlos 
rushed about and delivered a checking 
blow. It but deterred the beast in his 
destruction of the matador. And now 
in its madness and fury it turned to 
attack Carlos. Its attack Carlos met 
with a fearful plunge of his sword that 
sent the boiling blood spurting upon his 
hand. He withdrew his sword to watch 
its next act, perhaps death. But there 
it stood, and bellowed forth its fury in 
agonizing strains. Cautiously approach- 
ing, the matador lured the bull to de- 
struction by a wave of the crimson flag. 
For a moment it was motionless. Then 
with indescribable fury it plunged at 
the blood-stained object. Don Carlos 
met it half way. Unmindful of the 
wounds inflicted upon it, the bull rushed 
on in its wild endeavor to annihilate its 

i66 


The Unlucky Toreador 


tempter. About the vast arena ran the 
pursuer and the pursued. The fearless 
deportment, which in the most trying 
circumstances had distinguished and 
made famous Don Carlos, now entirely 
left him. He trembled in every limb and 
his countenance was blanched with fear. 
The thought of the many whom this bull 
within so few days had driven to death 
flashed before his mind. His end, too, 
had come, and like the drowning man all 
the actions of his life passed before him. 

He was now left in the pit alone to 
fight the bull — the matador and the 
attendant had fled from fear. The surg- 
ing mob rose in its excitement. He was 
now forced to within six feet of the wall, 
and his destruction seemed inevitable. 
Suddenly an ear-piercing scream rent the 
building. It was that of a woman. 
Carried away by the excitement in the 
pit, and in the first tier just over where 
the toreador was struggling for his life, 
she leaned over the rail with her child in 
167 


The Tragedy That Wins 


her arms. The child, too, was much 
awake to the scene being enacted before 
him. Like those about him, the child 
struggled, till finally it dropped out of 
its mother's grasp into the pit below. 
It was a few inches behind Don Carlos. 
The child was but slightly stunned, and 
so arose. To the utter consternation of 
all, especially to Don Carlos, who now 
became his protector, the child began to 
run. Keeping himself between the bull 
and the child, the toreador for a time 
was successful in warding off the rushes 
of the beast upon the child. Bleeding, 
wounded, and foaming at the mouth with 
rage, the beast was now in a terrible 
condition. It now made a plunge unex- 
pectedly, which threw the toreador off his 
guard. It was but short work to reach 
the child, and in a moment all was over. 
When the mob thus beheld the child 
mercilessly goared to death, it shrieked 
its execrations upon the head of Don 
Carlos. The arena swam before his eyes, 

i68 


The Unlucky Toreador 


and he beheld a jeering mass of human- 
ity, condemning him to universal scorn. 

He had gained possession of the 
child — but too late, it was now but a 
mangled corpse. He stood over it, a 
sorry picture — distorted features, sunken 
eyes and disheveled hair — while in his 
hand was the lowered sword. While 
he stood thus unguarded the bull made 
one terrific plunge and pinioned its victim 
against the wall and then tossed him to 
the ground. He struggled and arose 
to a half-sitting position and placed his 
hand over the wound in his side, from 
which the blood now spurted in a crim- 
son stream. The other hand he raised 
toward heaven, beseeching strength to 
overcome his conqueror. But weakness 
seized upon him and he struggled in 
the grasp of death. The cold beads 
of perspiration stood out upon his fore- 
head, and with a murmured prayer he 
sank back upon the corpse of the 
mangled boy — dead. 

169 


THE ESCAPE OF CAPTAIN 
NEVILLE. 


It was during the stormy period of 
the Revolution. The thick, smoky 
clouds of battle were still hovering about 
Bunker Hill, and the greensward was 
covered with the dead and wounded. 

Richard Neville, a captain in the Con- 
tinental army, who at one time had 
studied medicine, was walking among the 
suffering to see if there were any to 
whom he could be of assistance. He 
was attracted by the pitiful groans of a 
young man about his own age. He was 
a fine-looking fellow, with dark hair and 
black, piercing eyes, in deep contrast 
with which was the red uniform of a 
lieutenant in the English army. Richard 
examined the wound and found that it 
was not fatal, although very painful. So 
having eased the pain, he pillowed his 
head on a knapsack to await the 
stretchers. 

170 


The Escape of Captain Neville 


“What is your name, Lieutenant?’* 

“ Ben Cameron.” 

Richard pondered for awhile. “ O, 
yes, I thought I recognized the name. 
You are the son of General Cameron, 
are you not ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, Lieutenant, here comes the 
doctor. I will see you later in the day. 
My name is Richard Neville. 

“ Doctor, remove the lieutenant to my 
own private room, and see that he is 
well taken care of.” 

After this, Richard visited the hospital 
three or four times every day. Their 
friendship grew stronger and stronger, 
until one might think that they were 
brothers, brought up together all their 
lives. 

Some days afterwards Richard was or- 
dered to report to General Sedley. 

“ Captain, you are well acquainted 
with the ground about here, are you 
not ?” 

171 


The Tragedy That Wins 


“ I know every inch of it, General.’^ 

“ You are just the man I want. I have 
a dangerous task for you. 

“ It is most important for us to know 
the exact position of General Cameron’s 
troops. So I want you to go near 
enough to the enemy’s line to trace their 
position.” 

“All right, General, but I have one 
request to make before I go.” 

“ What is it ? ” 

“That you sign a release for Lieu- 
tenant Cameron, who was brought in 
wounded a v/eek ago.” 

“ Here it is. Captain.” 

Richard, overjoyed, took the release 
and hurried to the hospital. When he 
entered the room, Ben was asleep. So, 
not wishing to awaken him, he laid the 
pardon on a table near the bed ; took 
one long look at him, for perhaps this 
might be the last time he would see 
him, and then started off on his perilous 
journey. 


The Escape of Captain Neville 


When Ben awoke, the first thing he 
set eyes on was the pardon. He took 
it up and read it. Of course he knew 
that there was only one man who would 
go to the trouble of obtaining this, and 
at that moment he thought that there 
was not a better man in the world than 
Richard Neville. 

In the meantime Richard was making 
his way to a certain hill, in the vicinity of 
the enemy’s camp, which would suit him 
admirably for obtaining a good view of 
their position. The hill was reached in 
safety, but he was still exposed to any 
scouts who might happen to come that 
way. 

He had been seated on the hill for 
some time and had almost completed 
his observations, when he was startled 
by a pistol being thrust before his 
face by someone behind him. Looking 
around he beheld one of the enemy’s 
scouts. The next day he was taken 
before a military court, condemned as a 
173 


The Tragedy That Wins 


spy and sentenced to death. He asked 
permission to see General Cameron, but 
was told that the General had gone away 
a few days ago and had not yet returned. 

The loth of April dawned with a 
bright, warm summer sun shining 
through the prison window. Richard 
was sentenced to be shot at the stroke 
of ten. He had now given up all hope 
of ever escaping and had fully resigned 
himself to die like a true soldier. A few 
minutes before ten, shackled hand and 
foot, he was led out to the execution 
ground. The guards blindfolded him 
and six sharp-shooters, one of whom was 
to shoot the fatal bullet, were marched 
up before him. 

“Ready!” cried the corporal in a 
husky voice. The six triggers went 
back as one. 

“Aim!” 

The six guns were raised to the 
shoulder and six eyes sighted along 
the barrels. 


174 


The Escape of Captain Neville 


But at this moment the attention of 
all was attracted by a horse coming down 
the road at break-neck speed. When 
it came within hailing distance, the rider 
stood up in his stirrups and shouted at 
the top of his voice, “Don’t shoot! for 
God’s sake I ” 

They all recognized him. It was Lieu- 
tenant Cameron, the General’s son. 

When he reached the little group, he 
dismounted, handed the corporal a 
parchment; then rushed over and cut 
the cloth from Richard’s eyes. 

“ Come back to life and to your old 
friend Ben. Your time is not yet come.” 

Richard was so surprised he almost 
doubted that he lived. Ben was the last 
one on earth he had expected to see at 
this moment. 

Ben, however, soon relieved him. 
When the shackles were taken off, both 
sat down on the grass and Ben explained 
how he happened to come at this critical 
moment. 


175 


The Tragedy That Wins 


“ Three days after you left the release 
at the hospital, I was well enough to 
leave. So after finding that you had 
gone on a journey and would not return 
for some days, I started for our camp. 
On the way I met my father returning. 
I started to tell him how kindly I had 
been treated by Captain Richard Neville, 
but to my surprise at the mention of 
your name my father knit his brows and 
looked sorely troubled about something. 

“Turning quickly to me he said, ‘My 
boy, if you wish to save that man, take 
this pardon and ride as fast as you can 
for the camp. An orderly who came 
from the camp this morning told me that 
a captain by the name of Richard Neville 
was to be shot at ten o’clock.' 

“ Thus it was that I came not a second 
too soon.” 

“ So now,” said Ben, slapping Richard 
on the back, “you will be my prisoner 
for the next two weeks.” 


176 


THE GAME IN THE CARS. 


It was in the smoker of the Chicago 
Express. Two friends, Alexander Lind- 
say and John Shelly, were carrying on a 
very animated conversation in a very 
low tone. But their frequent gestures 
showed that it was something very inter- 
esting. The fact is they were both in 
love with the same girl, and each was 
showing why the other should give way. 
Many were the reasons, but none were 
convincing. Finally Lindsay said, “ See 
here, John, you’ll never persuade me, 
and ni never convince you, so suppose 
we decide who is to give up by a game 
of cards. If you win, you have a clear 
field until she refuses you, then you 
leave the way clear for me.” 

‘‘ That suits me,” said Shelly. '‘What 
will the game be ? ” 

“ Euchre. Three games.” 

“ All right.” 


177 


The Tragedy That Wins 


In the parlor car ahead, unknown to 
the two suitors, and unconscious of the 
struggle for her sake, sat Mary Wolfe 
and her friend Helen Lamb. They too 
were having an important conversation, 
and about the same subject as the two 
rivals for her hand. Mary was saying : 

‘‘You must meet him. He lives near 
the city.” 

“I’m just dying to,” said Helen. 
“ Do you think he knows ? ” 

“ I’m not sure of that.” 

“ Are you sure you like him ? ” 

“ Of course I am. I wouldn’t” — 

She never finished. At that moment 
the car jumped, hung an instant in the 
air, and then rolled over the embank- 
ment dragging with it the rest of the 
train. 

Lindsay and Shelly crawled out of 
their car breathless, but unhurt, save for 
a few scratches. 

“We’ll have to finish some other 
time,” said Lindsay, after they had re- 
178 


The Game in the Cars ” 


covered. “ Hello, why there’s Helen 
Lamb.” 

“ Hello, Helen,” called Lindsay. 

“Oh!” said Helen, “I didn’t recognize 
you at first. But have you seen Mary ? ” 

“ No, was she with you ?” said Lind- 
say. 

“Yes, but I’m afraid she’s hurt. I 
can’t find her anywhere.” 

“Are you looking for Miss Wolfe ? ” 
said a fellow-passenger. “ If so, I saw 
her going some time ago towards that 
house with some man.” 

“ Was she hurt ? ” 

“ No, she seemed to be all right.” 

“ Oh, I’m so glad. Come, let’s see if 
we can find her.” 

The three started off towards the 
house. As they approached, Mary 
came out, leaning on the arm of a good- 
looking young man. She seemed very 
much excited, and was certainly very red 
when, after introducing him as Mr. 
Nashe, she said to Helen : 

179 


The Tragedy That Wins 


“ Helen, he knows now, and it’s to be 
in October, and you must be one of my 
bridesmaids.” 

Lindsay looked blankly at Shelly, said 
something under his breath, and then 
laughed. Later, when they were alone, 
he said : 

'‘John, we won’t have to finish that 
game after all.” 

" If you say anything more about that 
game, I’ll punch your head,” said John. 


i8o 


TEDDY.’ 


“What delightful weather we are 
having,” murmured Mrs. Joshua Brant 
as she stood at her back door and gazed 
across the yard. “Why, I really think 
' Teddy * would be more comfortable out 
there than in this ‘ poky ’ house.” So 
saying, she picked up “Teddy” and de- 
posited him near an old oak tree, cau- 
tioning him, meanwhile, not to stir. 

Now Teddy, who by the way had not 
reached the age of two and was still in 
the stage known as “crawling,” was of 
an inquisitive turn of mind. No sooner 
had Mrs. Brant stepped back into the 
house than Teddy started for an empty 
dog-house which lay on the opposite side 
of the yard. Arrived here he “crawled” 
in and lay stretched out on the floor. 

Some few minutes later the back gate 
opened and a tall, ragged individual 
with a large covered basket on his arm 
peered in. Observing tha;t no one was 

i8i 


The Tragedy That Wins 


near, he boldly entered and made for 
Mrs. Brant’s cabbage patch situated in 
the far corner of the yard. The cabbages, 
with the exception of three small heads, 
had not fully ripened. Taking the above- 
mentioned three he deposited them in 
the basket, closed the lid, and walked 
out of the yard. 

This was, as our scientific friends 
would say, the psychological moment.” 
For Mrs. Brant who, up to this time, had 
been intent upon her work, happened to 
glance out into the yard and saw a tall, 
ragged individual walking out the gate 
with a large covered basket on his arm. 
Now two weeks before a small boy had 
been kidnapped in the town of Acton. 
Like a flash it crossed her mind Teddy” 
was in that basket. Rushing out into 
the yard she saw the toys which he had 
left lying beside the tree. She gave but 
a passing glance to the dog-house, never 
dreaming that “Teddy” lay safely en- 
sconced within. 


182 


Teddy 


Rushing down the path she beheld the 
tall individual starting down the road. 

“ Drop that basket, you villain,'’ she 
cried. Instantly the ragged individual 
turned about and for the first time ob- 
served that he was pursued. 

“Ah, the lady wants her cabbages,” 
he muttered, “well, I hardly think she 
will get them to-day.” He then started 
off at a swift pace down the road. 

One hundred yards behind came Mrs. 
Brant, her hair stretching out to the 
wind like a streamer. Just below the 
Brant homestead the road runs past a 
public park. Thinking to distance her, 
the man with the basket turned in at the 
gate and sped down the path. The 
distance between the two was widening 
perceptibly, Mrs. Brant’s breath coming 
in short gasps. Standing on one side 
of the path was one of the “finest” 
busily engaged in talking with a nurse, 
and entirely oblivious of the man speed- 
ing down the path. Suddenly he heard 
183 


The Tragedy That Wins 


a woman’s voice cry out, Arrest that 
man, officer.” Mrs. Brant whizzed by. 
The officer followed suit, reinforced by 
the nurse, who ran pushing her coach at 
a speed dangerous to herself and her 
charge. 

Attracted by the strange spectacle, an 
old man in a rolling-chair, determining 
'‘to be in at the death,” ordered his 
attendant to make haste. Two spinsters 
of uncertain age seeing the strange pur- 
suit, also joined in the chase. 

Meanwhile our friend with the basket 
had reached a small stream which ran 
through the park. In his haste to cross 
the narrow plank which spanned it, he 
slipped and fell into the water. As he 
fell, the lid of the basket became some- 
how unloosened. The three heads of 
cabbage floated down the stream. 
Shaking himself, he was off again, still 
grasping the basket, which had again 
become closed, in his hand. The officer 
witnessing the discomfiture of the sup- 
184 


Teddy 


posed kidnapper, and thinking it was 
caused by the slippery condition of the 
plank, determined to ward off such a 
catastrophe by jumping the seemingly 
narrow stream. He failed by a yard to 
clear it, and landed in mid-water. 

Mrs. Brant with the two spinsters in 
tow, for the nurse had been left away in 
the rear, now approached the plank and 
started to cross. Stepping gingerly on 
it, Mrs. Brant grasped the first spinster’s 
right hand, while the spinster in turn 
grasped the other one’s right. In this 
fashion they were slowly nearing the 
centre of the stream when the plank, 
which was old and decayed, and unable 
to support their combined weight, sud- 
denly broke in two and precipitated all 
three into the stream. The old man in 
the rolling-chair fared more fortunately. 
Observing a large bridge some distance 
away, he crossed over and soon caught 
up with the bedraggled three, who were 
hastening to join the officer. 

185 


The Tragedy That Wins 


The man with the basket had con- 
siderably increased his lead, and had 
arrived at the top of a rather steep hill 
when another mishap occurred. As he 
sped down the hill and had almost 
reached the bottom, his legs seemed to 
double under him and he fell to the 
ground. Some creeping vines had 
tripped him. Jumping to his feet he was 
off again, and dashed around a bend in 
the road. 

He was scarcely out of sight when the 
officer, with water still oozing out of his 
clothes, dashed down at break-neck 
speed. A cloud of dust arose to show 
where he had met his second Waterloo. 
Nothing daunted, he sprang to his feet 
and again took up the pursuit. 

In rapid succession Mrs. Brant and 
the two spinsters, utterly ignorant of the 
pitfall which awaited them, madly dashed 
down the hill. A larger cloud of dust 
showed that the vines were “ still work- 
ing.” In close proximity to them came 

i86 


Teddy 


the old gentleman in the rolling chair, 
now earnestly exhorting the attendant to 
increase his speed. The three women 
had barely time to get out of the way 
when the rolling chair, caught in the 
same snare, lurched to one side and 
deposited the old gentleman out on the 
road. With the help of the attendant, 
he soon righted the machine and again 
joined in the chase. 

Just below the turn, around which the 
man with the basket had disappeared, 
was a small clump of bushes. All had 
passed with the exception of the old 
gentleman in the rolling chair who, 
glancing in that direction, saw a part of 
the tell-tale basket. He quickly in- 
formed the attendant, who rushed up 
and found the ragged individual stretched 
out gasping, on the ground. He was 
too exhausted to offer any resistance and 
quietly gave himself up. At this junc- 
ture Mrs. Brant, followed by the three 
spinsters and the officer, being attracted 
1S7 


The Tragedy That Wins 


by the old gentleman’s shouts, rushed 
up and demanded her child. The man 
volubly protested that he had taken no 
child, and when in compliance with Mrs. 
Brant’s demand, the basket was un- 
covered, it was found to be empty. 

“He has a confederate to whom he 
has probably slipped the child,” said the 
officer. “ So I’ll lock him up.” 

Still protesting, the man was hand- 
cuffed, and, accompanied by Mrs. Brant, 
the two spinsters and the old gentleman 
in the rolling chair, the march to the sta- 
tion house was begun. On the way 
there, they passed up the road skirting 
Mrs. Brant’s back yard. The fence was 
not very high and happening to glance 
over, Mrs. Brant beheld none other than 
her own little “ Teddy ” “ crawling ” out 
of the dog-house. 

“ Officer,” she said, “ I withdraw the 
charge.” 

The little party turned and instantly 
recognized the reason. For smiling at 
them from the dog-house was “Teddy!” 

i88 


A BRIEF REUNION. 


“Who is the newcomer, Ed? I met 
him last night and he impressed me as a 
fine fellow.’' 

Frank MacWillis, the one who asked 
the question, was a well-built fellow, six 
feet tall, with a well-proportioned body 
and a very athletic appearance. 

Ed. Stanley, the boy to whom the 
question was addressed, was Frank’s 
room-mate. He was not quite as well 
built as Frank, but he was as wiry as a 
barb fence. 

The scholastic term at Druid Hill Col- 
lege was just opening after the usual 
summer vacation and both had returned 
for their graduation year. 

“ Here comes John Langdale, the new- 
comer,” said Ed. “ Come over here, 
John, till I introduce you to one of the 
peers of the college, Frank MacWillis.’^ 

John was a quiet young fellow of slight 
build but with so charming a disposition 
189 


The Tragedy That Wins 


that when one knew him he could not 
help liking him. This was his first year 
at Druid Hill College. He had gone to 
day-college for three years and he 
thought that he would like to spend his 
last year at boarding college. 

He received a room next to Frank’s 
and Ed’s, and they soon became fast 
friends. That night as he lay awake, 
(for the sleep of one in strange quarters 
is never very sound) he wondered why 
it was they took so much interest in him. 
Why, he felt as though he had known 
them for years. 

It didn’t take long for Frank and Ed. 
to find out that John was a hard student, 
and this accounted for his physical weak- 
ness. At the end of the first month he 
led the best boys in his class by a large 
margin. Ed. had succeeded in coming 
out third, but the highest Frank could 
reach, was eighth. Frank, however, had 
one redeeming trait, namely, he was a 
skilled mathematician. 


190 


A Brief Reunion 


Soon after the first month the foot- 
ball squad was out practicing for the 
annual game with the local Clinton 
University. Of course Frank and Ed. 
were candidates, in fact, they had been 
the stars of the team for the last three 
years. 

At last the longed-for day came. 
The grand-stand was crowded with ex- 
cited faces and the air was rent with the 
shouts of thousands of voices cheering 
their favorites on to victory. 

Among these was John, his face 
flushed with excitement and his eyes 
watching every movement of the players. 

The game was being hotly contested. 
Only five minutes remained, and neither 
side had been able to score. The 
Clintons nearly did the trick in the first 
half on a fumble, but Frank was after 
them in a flash and brought them down 
within ten yards of the goal line. This 
was the nearest they ever got during the 
game. 


The Tragedy That Wins 


Two minutes were left. Something 
must be done. Ed. bit his lips and 
gave the signal for a quarter-back run. 

The ball was snapped back. 

Ed. and Frank, who was playing full- 
back, broke through the whole Clinton 
line and started for the goal. Down 
they came sweeping away all before 
them. Time and time again an oppos- 
ing player tried to tackle them but the 
giant form of Frank knocked them all 
aside like so many children. 

There was only one man more in their 
path. He made a dive for them, but as 
he did so, Frank threw himself before 
him, and they both went down in a 
heap. Ed, however, with all the fleet- 
ness of a deer, jumped over them and 
had a clear road to victory. He fell 
over the line exhausted. 

The game was won. 

Instantly a roar broke forth from the 
multitude, that sounded like a clap of 
thunder. 


192 


A Brief Reunion 


Ed. and Frank were raised aloft on the 
shoulders of their comrades and borne 
triumphantly among the shouting multi- 
tude. 

That night the victory was celebrated 
with fires and speeches. Ed. and Frank 
were the heroes of the hour. 

After this the regular routine of col- 
lege life was indulged in until the base- 
ball season, but since this was their last 
year, and all three had a very difficult 
examination to pass, none of them tried 
for the team. 

At length graduation day came. They 
had all passed very successful examina- 
tions. 

The friends and parents of all the 
boys were present, and everywhere 
there was gladness and joy. 

John was appointed to give the vale- 
dictory, and such a fine speech was never 
before heard in that auditorium. 

When it was over the three went to 
their rooms to pack up for their depart- 
^93 


The Tragedy That Wins 


ure. It was a sad leave-taking between 
them. They felt as if someone very 
dear to them was about to die, for they 
might never see each other again. 

Frank intended to go to West Point ; 
Ed. to study medicine, and John to pre- 
pare for the priesthood. 

Thus we will leave them. 

❖ * ❖ ❖ 

Years after the day of their depart- 
ure, the Spanish- American War broke 
out. Of course, Frank, who by this time 
had obtained the rank of captain, went 
to the seat of the trouble. While lead- 
ing a charge he was mortally wounded. 

Having preserved his faith which he 
had been taught so well at college, the 
first thing he asked for was a priest. 

There was no priest in his own regi- 
ment, so one was summoned from a 
regiment a short distance av*^ay. 

The priest, on his arrival, took a long 
look at Frank, for he thought he recog- 
nized those strong features. So after he 
194 


A Brief Reunion 


gave him absolution he asked him his 
name. 

“ Frank MacWillis,” answered Frank. 

At this moment, the doctor came up 
and happened to hear the name, but 
neither Frank nor the priest was aware 
of his presence. 

“ Did you ever go to Druid Hill Col- 
lege?” asked the priest. 

Frank raised himself on his elbow to 
look at the priest. No! he could not 
recognize him as one of his old comrades. 

“ Yes, I spent the happiest days of my 
life there.” 

A big tear trickled down the priest’s 
cheek. 

‘'Well, Frank,” he said in a husky 
voice. “ It is wonderful how time 
changes us. I am John Langdale.” 

The doctor could stand it no longer; 
here were his two old comrades. 

“Yes, and I am your old friend Ed 
Stanley,” cried the doctor. 

A faint smile settled on Frank’s face, 
195 


The Tragedy That Wins 


and he feebly stretched forth his hand 
to both of them and peacefully closed his 
eyes. 

‘Ts the wound fatal, Doctor?'' asked 
Fr. Langdale. 

“ Yes, Father, it is only a question of 
minutes." 

So there they stayed by the side of 
their old comrade, the hero of many a 
foot-ball field, and now the hero of the 
battle-field, about to draw his last breath 
and to cross the bridge that separated 
him from eternity. After twenty years, 
for a few short moments, were reunited 
the friends of early college days, the 
priest, the doctor and the soldier, and 
then was said a long farewell. 


196 


“THE TRAGEDY THAT WINS. 


The Castle of Monteblanc loomed up 
majestically against the dark and threat- 
ening skies. Low murmured the 
thunder with strange forebodings ; vivid 
gleamed the lightning, illumining the 
moss-covered walls of the castle, as if 
discountenancing the secret that the 
castle held within itself on this fearful 
night. The death of a prince of the 
church was meditated ! 

Within, the Cardinal Richenza, with 
downcast head paced the spacious room 
— his prison — in sorrow, although re- 
signed to the divine will. The agony 
that struggled within his breast tortured 
him sorely. Suddenly he halted, at hear- 
ing the rasping of a file on the bars of 
his prison windows. Knowing not 
whether it were friend or foe, he ap- 
proached the window in trepidation. He 
peered out into the darkness and listened, 
and there, as he gazed, he beheld a full- 
197 


The Tragedy That Wins 


armored knight from the Campagna. 
The cardinal was amazed at seeing this 
stranger in the camp of his enemies, the 
Germans, who had conquered all the 
surrounding country and were hostile to 
all Italians. 

The knight beneath the window 
paused and raised his visor. Drawing 
himself up by his mail-clad hands to the 
window edge, he raised himself nearer 
and whispered into the cardinal’s ear : 
“Your Eminence, beware! they seek 
your life this night — beware ! ” 

Horror and fear blanched the features 
of the aged cardinal. He recognized 
not the voice that spoke from the dark- 
ness, but he thought then that he was a 
friend and spoke truly. For more than 
an hour the holy man knelt in prayer 
upon the floor, preparing for his ap- 
proaching end. There was neither cru- 
cifix nor picture in which to find solace, 
but raising his hands to Heaven he cried 
out: “O God, my Saviour, look down 
198 


The Tragedy That Wins 


with pity on thy abused church. Com- 
fort me, Jesus, in my hour of death.** 
He uttered no more but sank upon the 
floor in a faint. 

The candle flickering in the candelabra 
cast its faint rays upon the motionless 
cardinal. The silence of the dark and 
still night became oppressive. Suddenly 
the tread of heavy steps was heard in 
the halls, as with murderous design the 
courtiers of the castle moved with stealth 
along the halls towards the prison of the 
cardinal. They halted, and drawing 
their dark masks over their faces pre- 
pared for their deed of evil. The Prince 
of Saxony, the leader of the band, com- 
manded silence and peering through a 
crevice in the door beheld, to his delight, 
that all was prepared for the crime — the 
expiring light and the sleeping cardinal. 

But, no. He did not sleep. He arose 
as if bidden by some guarding spirit. 
With wonder he gazed at the door where 
now a great key turning in the massive 
199 


The Tragedy That Wins 


lock was heard. The cardinal arose, 
and prepared for his midnight intruders. 
He stood there in the centre of the room 
in all the majesty of his holy office. The 
oak-panelled door swung open and in 
rushed the Prince of Saxony and three 
men-at-arms. But they stood spell- 
bound before their victim who looked 
upon them with calm dignity. Seeing 
their looks of hatred and cruelty, he 
sank upon his knees and implored them 
to refrain from murder, he would die 
soon and then be no longer their 
prisoner. But at a given signal from the 
prince, two men rushed upon him and 
put forth their strength to strangle the 
unoffending cardinal. The blood coursed 
to his head, and the veins stood out upon 
his forehead as crimson as his sacred 
robe. Overcome by their vice-like grips, 
his unconscious form was soon stretched 
upon the floor and his heavy breathing 
lent ominous significance to the scene. 

As the three courtiers lifted the sense- 


200 


The Tragedy That Wins 


less body of the cardinal to carry it to 
some distant apartment, the clanging of 
armor resounded throughout the halls. 
The prince knew not what it was, and 
stared as if stark-mad at his three com- 
panions, as a tall figure stood upon 
the threshold. He was, obviously, a 
knight of noble fame, and bore on his 
armor the marks of recent conflict. 
Taking in the situation at a glance, the 
knight rushed into the room and de- 
manded the release of the cardinal. 

The form fell from the hands of the 
soldiers. Like fiends, the four soldiers, 
taking their axes and spears which they 
had laid aside, turned upon the armed 
defender of right. Over the prostrate 
body of the cardinal they fought — four 
to one. The knight bore well their 
blows and parried their thrusts, lunged 
at them, and soon had two of the num- 
ber stretched in death. The prince 
fought like a demon and cursed his luck. 
Yet they fought on. 


201 


The Tragedy That Wins 


The din of the fray soon brought the 
cardinal to his senses. He opened his 
eyes and feebly begged them to desist 
from bloodshed. But now it was too 
late. The knight fought in self-defence, 
and the termination of the duel could 
only be the death of the opposing party. 
The knight had only the prince to con- 
tend with. He was a skilful warrior — 
this prince — and had done much battle 
in Italy. But his antagonist was his 
superior in skill at least, if not in 
strength. 

About the room, strewn with the dead, 
the two warriors furiously pressed their 
combat. The cardinal had risen and 
attempted to break between the com- 
batants. He watched the movements 
of each, and sought his opportunity to 
delay, and, if possible, terminate the 
battle. The prince grew weak and was 
forced to the wall. Suddenly he saw 
his advantage in the cardinal. Drop- 
ping his sword he dragged the cardinal 


202 


The Tragedy That Wins 


to himself by throwing his left arm 
about his body while his right hand 
grasping a small dagger he drew from 
his belt, he held it above the defenseless 
man’s head. The knight, seeing this, 
held back his blow, as the prince cried 
out, “ Strike one more blow and I drive 
my dagger into his heart ! Surrender 
at once or he dies ! ” 

Truly was the knight in a strange 
dilemma : if he strikes at the prince he 
must needs kill the cardinal, and if he 
desist not from his duel the cardinal dies 
by the hand of the prince, and all his 
efforts would have been in vain. He was 
there to defend the cardinal’s life, not to 
be the cause of his death. 

The two warriors eyed each other 
with inexpressible hate. They knew 
not each other’s identity : the prince was 
masked, and the knight had not raised 
his visor. The knight dropped his 
sword to the floor, but surrendered it 
not in defeat. He watched to see if the 
203 


The Tragedy That Wins 


prince would offer violence, and he was 
ready to shed his own life’s blood in 
revenge. But, no, the prince had re- 
ceived too many grievous wounds, and 
exhausted sank to the floor, dragging 
his human shield with him. The knight 
bent over the exhausted prince, and saw 
his eyes close. The blood from a 
wound, torn open anew by the fall, 
spurted from his breast, and stained the 
floor. The death throes came upon him : 
his body twitched and his features were 
convulsed. He sank back upon the 
arm of the unknown knight, half opened 
his eyes, looked upon the face of his 
antagonist — and died. 

“ Hasten ! hasten ! ” cried the knight 
to the cardinal, as he gently laid the 
dead prince upon the ground. The 
knight, supporting the cardinal’s step, 
walked through the silent and deserted 
halls. At the door they came upon an- 
other corpse. He struck me first,” 
exclaimed the knight, “and I had no 
time to parley then.” 

204 


The Tragedy That Wins 


Noble warrior, to whom do I owe 
my life?” said the cardinal, when they 
gained the open fields and were about 
to enter a Franciscan monastery, a few 
paces from the great castle. 

“ Dost thou not know me, my 
brother ? ” asked the knight. 

“ Albert, Albert, my brother, why 
didst thou not tell me ? ” tenderly cried 
the cardinal, as he sank upon his 
brother’s shoulder, with sobs of grati- 
tude. 

“ I feared for thee, my brother, and I 
followed in the guard placed over thee, 
and sought thy release. For days — yea, 
for months, I watched near thy prison 
window. One by one I saw thy guard 
sent away to strengthen the forces of 
the king. To-day I knew when a great 
band left, that thou wert guarded by 
but a handful of men. I sawed at the 
window to summon thee, and chose a 
disguise to disarm thy fears. I passed 
by the guard, who, not recognizing me, 
205 


The Tragedy That Wins 


offered fight. God forgive me for his 
death.” 

“This is indeed a sad drama/^ said 
the cardinal. 

“ Aye, a tragedy,” replied the Knight 
Albert, “ and one in which right and not 
might is triumphant — the Tragedy that 
Wins.” 


206 


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